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THE WITCH of 
BAYOU PIERRE 


By 

AIDA MUMFORD GILVIN 

and 

JAMES EVERETT MUMFORD, M. D. 



SOUTHWEST PRESS 



^Publishers in and of the Southwest 
DALLAS, TEXAS 









PZ 3 

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Copyrighted 1939 

SOUTHWEST PRESS 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Manufactured in the U. S. A. 


flflR 30 1940 

©ClA 1 39363 <<i_ 


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I. 

Near the open door of a weatherbeaten log cabin 
in the land of many bayous a shriveled crone sat 
huddled in a short-legged hide bottom chair. Small 
piercing black eyes peering from deep bony sockets 
seemed to dart over and beyond a small clearing 
about the place, and to rest broodingly on the dank 
edges of the swamp. They looked resentfully at 
the tangled under-brush that crowded to the very 
rim of the sun-baked potato patch as if reaching 
out octupus tentacles to recapture this pitiful striv¬ 
ing toward civilization, and to drag back into 
somber boggy shadows. 

The parchment like skin of the old woman was 
drawn across high cheek bones like hide stretched 
on pegs and dried by the sun. Lips caved in over 
toothless gums, worked and smacked continually. 
Quick bird-like movements of the weazened body 
proved that in spite of her years life in her was so 
unnaturally strong that it justified the name given 
her years ago, "The Witch of Bayou Pierre.” 

It was the month of April back in the early 
days of Louisiana, and the hot sun that had flamed 


1 


2 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


since early dawn with a heat known only to south¬ 
ern lowlands, was at last casting long lazy shadows 
across the cabin with its rickety gallery and honey¬ 
suckle vine. No clouds appeared in the hot brassy 
sky with promise of relief from the unusual heat 
that billowed in suffocating waves from the swamp 
and nearby canebrakes of the sluggish Bayou Pierre. 

A slight movement within the cabin caused 
Madame Lisso to turn her hideous head with its 
quick bird-like twist, and ask in a weird unnatural 
voice. 

"You, Asa?” 

"Yah, man,” came the answer in a strange 
cracked voice not unlike that of the old witch, and 
a moment later a freakish relic of a man wound out 
of the door onto the slanting little gallery and 
seated himself in the shade of the honeysuckle. His 
joints seemed bent and twisted with some malicious 
intent, and the wooly white whiskers which covered 
his entire face and neck and met the wooly white 
hair on his head, made him resemble an old ram, 
as much as Madame Lisso, his mother, did a picked 
and dried sparrow. Both were so extremely odd 
that it was difficult to believe age alone could have 
made such scare-crows of them. 

At the age of fifteen Madame Lisso, of French- 
Irish descent had arrived in Louisiana with a ship¬ 
ment of girls who had been sent from France for 
the purpose of supplying wives for the colonists. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


3 


Homely past description even then, to the surprise 
of the beauties who had snubbed her on the voyage 
over, she was led away by Rechard Lisso, the hand¬ 
somest and most debonaire Frenchman in the col¬ 
ony. Those who saw the unbelievable happen, de¬ 
clared there was witchcraft at the bottom of it. 
Thus, almost at the moment of her landing in this 
new country nearly a century ago, the name of 
witch had fallen upon this strange creature like a 
black mantle. Her weird appearance, and the many 
unexplainable happenings in or near the isolated 
cabin at the edge of the swamp, had deepened the 
belief in her uncanny powers. Indians had worn 
the little path deep coming for magic of the black 
art she practiced, while many of the settlers would 
ride miles out of their way to avoid meeting one 
of the Lisso family. 

If the handsome Rechard was bewitched when 
he chose his ugly wife, the spell remained on him 
until death. Two children were born to this strange¬ 
ly mated pair. The son, grotesquely ugly as his 
mother, as a child was injured by a fall, from which 
he never fully recovered, and the years had fash¬ 
ioned him into this queer old man, now sitting in 
the shade of the honeysuckles. The little girl, Renee, 
born years later, inherited the dark loveliness of the 
Lisso women. Passionate love and thrust of a 
stranger ended her tempestuous life at the age of 


4 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


seventeen. Heart broken, the kindly old Rechard 
was soon laid to rest by her side. 

Renee’s child was christened Sabine for the parish 
in which she was born, and from some throw-back 
in ancestry or, as many believed, from the witch 
blood in her veins, this child of a race of dark- 
skinned, dark-eyed people, was of unbelievable 
blonde fairness. At sixteen she stood out in shining 
contrast to the Louisianians of that day, whose 
swarthy skins ranged from negro to the creamy 
complexions of the French and Spanish settlers. 
The unaccountable blue-eyed fairness of the witch’s 
grand-daughter had caused the ignorant to shun 
her, many to secretly fear her, and all to leave her 
alone save the Spanish family of Sepulvedor who 
lived several miles away on San Miguel Bayou. 

The last red fingers of a vanished sun had faded, 
blotting out the still evening shadows, and a tropical 
twilight was deepening over the hard beaten path 
that led to the door of Madame Lisso’s cabin, when 
a slight figure sped through the woods toward the 
home of the old witch. There was fright in those 
speeding feet as if some fearful unseen thing glided 
in pursuit. 

The keen ears of Madame Lisso caught the sound 
of the swiftly running feet; her bleak talon hands 
ceased their nervous twining around each other. 
Perched upon the edge of her chair she became 
alert, her sharp ears, trained to distinguish noises of 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


5 


the swamp . . . night noises . . . and sounds by 
day, caught a difference in the message of the dark¬ 
ening woods. A strange look crossed her horrid 
face, and with her uncanny sixth sense she half rose, 
clutching her shriveled breast. Stark terror sped 
those flying feet tonight. Once before during the 
past month the same difference had reached her 
listening ears, and now as she hurriedly rose and 
scurried to meet the flying girl, an icy hand seemed 
to clutch her heart. Her old eyes fixed piercingly 
on her granddaughter, as she bounded over the 
block step with tiny moccasined feet that hardly 
tipped it. Sabine’s breath was coming in gasps as 
she clutched at the old woman. 

"Quick! In the house, granny. Get in! He is 
out there again. He is there now. I saw his eyes 
watching me from the bushes.” 

She dragged the old witch inside the room and 
flew about closing the tiny shutters and the back 
door to the shed room where old Asa slept. Madame 
Lisso hopped about like a bird. She poked her head 
out of the door and whispered in her weird way to 
Asa half asleep in his chair. 

"Whist! Git a pine-knot an fetch it quick, son.” 

Like one of the wild things he had lived among 
all his life, the old woodsman caught the warning 
in his mother’s voice, and swiftly glided to the 
woodpile in the yard and back with his long arms 
filled with pineknots. As he entered the room the 


6 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


door was quickly closed and the plank fastening 
shot into place. He went to the huge mud fire¬ 
place and stirring the ashes, uncovered the red coals 
upon which he placed the rich knot that smoked 
a moment, then caught, lighting the room with its 
leaping blaze. The sudden brightness made the old 
man blink with the astigmatic blindness of one long 
accustomed to darkness. 

The girl Sabine made a beautiful picture in that 
crude room with its rough homemade furniture, 
smoked herb-hung rafters, and walls on which were 
all the queer things the old witch used in her artful 
machinations. The firelight played over her fairy¬ 
like face and braided hair which hung in ropes of 
molten gold to the hem of her short homespun 
dress. Great eyes surprisingly blue between black 
lashes, were fixed with frozen terror on the closed 
door as if waiting,—waiting,—dreading for it to 
open and reveal the object of her terror. The pine- 
knot fell apart with a crack that sounded like an 
exploding bomb and the girl started nervously. 

"Set down, chile,” said the old woman, reaching 
out with her claw-like hands and drawing her to a 
chair. Then she perched herself in the chimney 
corner. Her eyes disappeared far back in their bony 
sockets as she mouthed and mumbled in the strange 
voice nature had given her. 

"Ma pore leetle chile, pestered by tha varment, 
tha black imp of satan. SnophT aroun’ ma cabin, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


7 


ferritin’ out ma secrets. Lavin’ tracks in ma gar¬ 
den. Alack-a-day, ma pore ole self. Plague take 
tha spawn uv satan, half-breed brat uv er squaw. 
I’ll ram er toad down the black throat uv ’im. Pore 
ole me, pore ole witch. Did dast lay dirty hands on 
ye ” 

"No, oh, no, granny. He was in the bushes. His 
eyes were watching me.” 

Sabine’s voice was keyed high with nervousness. 
Her frightened eyes constantly travelled from the 
closed door to the little shuttered window, then 
back to her grandmother and Asa nodding in the 
chimney corner. 

"He started trackin’ ye then?’ 

"Yes, granny. I felt him coming after me 
through the shadows. He is out there now—I can 
feel it.” 

"Guydo an’ Marcelena had cum es fur es tha fork 
wid ye?” 

"Yes, they had left me just a few minutes when 
I felt the eyes. I looked to one side—ough! Where 
could I hide? Oh, granny, shall I ever escape from 
the terror of the Trail?” 

A terrible shudder ran over the slender body and 
the fair child-face, drained of blood, looked pinched 
in the firelight. 

"Ye felt the evil eyes nigh tha ole ironwood tree?” 

"Yes, granny.” 

Sabine paused in her nervous watching of door 


8 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


and shutter to look at her grandmother. It was 
strange how granny could always read things just as 
they happened before being told about them. But 
her thoughts were wiped from her mind as a sound, 
more felt than heard, brought all three up with a 
start. No one spoke. Old Asa who often lived 
in the woods for weeks at a time had caught the 
sound and sat with wooly head thrown back, lis¬ 
tening. The fire flickered eerily as the blaze began 
to die. The weird screech of a disturbed owl flap¬ 
ping its wings in flight over the cabin made the 
girl’s blood run cold. Turning stiff fright paralyzed 
necks, they looked through the door of the cabin 
into Asa’s shed-room. In the flickering light of the 
fire they saw the trapdoor in the floor of the shed- 
room open, and a man slowly crawl through it and 
rise to his feet. The figure advanced to the door¬ 
way, and leaning against it, calmly gazed at the 
silent little group. 

"Buenos noches!” said Ocase Mataha in a deep 
gutteral voice. 

In the silence Madame Lisso heard the impatient 
champ of horses and knew that outside waited 
members of the halfbreed’s bandit gang. Ocase’s 
keen black eyes, straight figure, black hair and red¬ 
dish complexion indicated his Indian blood as clearly 
as his poise, regularity of feature and normal cheek¬ 
bones betrayed his heritage from his white father. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


9 


"Good evening!” repeated the half-breed, his 
eyes traveling over the frightened Sabine. 

"Mon Dieu!” screamed Madame Lisso, recover¬ 
ing the use of her cracked old voice. "Git, ye black 
savage devil. Lave us in peace, ye robber brat uv 
er squaw! What do ye mean by sneaking in on 
us like tha varment ye be? Git!” 

"Quiet down, mammy. I am not here to kill 
you,” replied Ocase in a carefully enunciated Eng¬ 
lish which sounded strange on his tongue. "I fancy 
your granddaughter, and I mean to have her. She 
spurned my proposal on the trail so I must take 
what I want. I want her for my squaw. I come 
for her now!” 

The old woman rose shakily and spat in the fire 
with startling vehemence. 

"Niver will ye hev her, ye misbegotten son uv er 
white father,” she cried, "lave us this instant or 
I’ll put sich er spell on ye an yer gang asTl last ye ter 
yer dyin day! Git, afore I call tha dogs uv hell to 
drag ye away to yer destruction!” 

The half-breed looked at her stolidly. 

"Go frighten children with your threats, old 
woman!” 

"Ye imupent brat uv er squaw, ye—” 

With shaking hands Sabine motioned her grand¬ 
mother to be quiet. 

"Don’t you see you are frightening my gran 9 - 
mereY 9 she said. "Please go!’* 


10 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"When I go, you go with me,” replied Ocase. "I 
have spoken to the priest and he awaits us. Come!” 

With the easy springy step of a panther the In¬ 
dian crossed over to the girl and seized her by the 
arm. 

"Oh, Gran 9 merel Asa! Don’t let him get me!” 
Sabine screamed, frantic with terror. 

Ocase drew her with him and started toward the 
door. A flash of understanding lit Asa’s feeble 
brain. With the unexpected litheness of a cat he 
sprang from his chair and hurled himself snarling, 
biting and scratching, upon the Indian. Surprised 
at the suddenness of the attack Ocase staggered 
and released Sabine who ran screaming to her 
grandmother. Recovering himself, Ocase turned 
upon Asa and with a contemptuous push sent the 
old man crashing to the floor. Though stunned, 
Asa looked up in time to see the half-breed wrench 
Sabine from the clutching hands of his mother and 
turn again to the door. Into the half-crazed brain 
of the old man came but a single thought—kill, 
kill. Wobbling to his feet, he snatched up the over¬ 
turned bench and made toward the halfbreed, who 
was now fumbling with the bolt while Sabine strug¬ 
gled and kicked in his embrace. 

"Brain him, Asa, brain him!” shrieked Madame 
Lisso. 

Warned by her outcry, Ocase wheeled. Whipping 
out his revolver and grasping it firmly by the bar- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


11 


rel, he brought the butt of it down upon the old 
mans’ skull with a crash that stretched him uncon¬ 
scious on the floor. With a cry of rage Sabine 
snatched the Indian’s hunting knife from its scab¬ 
bard and tried to bury it in his side. Ocase grinned 
wickedly and imprisoned the girl’s hands with an 
easy gesture. He thrust his face close to the tear- 
filled eyes of his captive. 

"It’s lawful marriage I offer you,” he muttered, 
still speaking his careful English. 

For answer Sabine bent her head and sank her 
teeth into his imprisoning hand. 

"She-cat! Then Ill ’take what I want!” 

Throwing her across his shoulder Ocase jerked 
open the door. The old woman flung herself for¬ 
ward to impede the exit of the bandit, but her feet 
became entangled in her long dress and she fell to 
the floor as Sabine, screaming, was borne away in 
the darkness toward Natchitoches. 

Hours later when dark clouds had blown up and 
the wind howled against the cabin a shrunken old 
woman sat staring into the gray embers on her 
hearth. Had Ocase carried Sabine before a priest 
for lawful wedding or had he ... . 

Her long fingers laced and unlaced in her lap. 

"The seventeenth!” she murmured. "The seven¬ 
teenth. I’ll send him and his gang to hell for the 
doings of this seventeenth.” 

Asa sat weeping beside the dying fire, his beard 


12 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


and hair stiff with drying blood. Puzzled he 
watched his mother seize a bit of charred wood from 
the ashes and in wavering black letters write the 
figure seventeen on the board above the fireplace. 

"The seven teen th!” repeated Madame Lisso as she 
formed the figures. 

"Seventeenth, seventeenth,” repeated Asa as he 
rose and stumbled off to the shedroom. 


II. 


In 1788 the first rumblings of the storm that was 
to become the French Revolution began to disturb 
the calm of Europe. Ancient dynasties sat appar¬ 
ently secure on their thrones; landed aristocrats 
frolicked their privileged way through endless court 
gayeties; wealthy middle classes continued to buy 
and sell, and amass riches. The first faint murmurs 
of the cyclone were almost unheeded. A year later 
the hurricane broke in all its fury. Reverberations 
from the storm center swept from Paris in ever 
broadening circles until the entire continent was 
involved in the clash of ideas, the war of irrecon¬ 
cilable political systems, the destruction of aristo¬ 
crats, the volcanic fall of ancient dynasties and the 
sudden rise of new. 

Spain no less than France entered upon three de¬ 
cades of unprecedented turmoil, suffering and war. 
Many a grandee of Madrid and noble of Paris, lost 
life and property in the almost universal cataclysm. 
Early in the titanic disturbance that raged in 
Europe Don Leon Francesco Sepulvedor, his for¬ 
tune destroyed and his ancient patrimony wrecked, 
13 


14 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


cast longing eyes to America. Perhaps within its 
deep forests he might find the peace which had 
deserted Europe; on its broad virgin acres he might 
recoup the fortunes so depleted by the exigency 
of the time. In Spanish America he might recover 
all he had lost in old Spain. Therefore, early in 
the 1790’s Don Leon left Madrid, with Amata his 
young French wife, and their two children, Guydo, 
a boy of seven, and Marcelena, a smiling babe of 
less than a year, he sailed across the Atlantic to 
New Orleans. 

Fired by the tales that he heard of the beautiful 
bayou country, the productivity of its soil, and the 
wealth to be gained in the cultivation of indigo, 
tobacco and rice, the intrepid Spaniard with his 
family journeyed northward over the Spanish Trail. 
Undeterred by the dangers of the country, un¬ 
daunted by the reported depredations of bandits, 
and unfrightened by the unsettled state of the 
country, Don Leon pushed to Natchitoches, the 
oldest Spanish town in that section of Louisiana. 
This old settlement on the Red River pleased him. 
Some distance beyond Natchitoches, in Sabine 
Parish, near the little fort of Spanish Town the 
adventuring Don settled and built himself a log 
cabin. 

His new home was on the Bayou San Miguel 
within a stone’s throw of a branch of the Spanish 
Trail. Originally a one-roomed hut, the Don had 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


15 


added to the structure a$ the years passed and suc¬ 
cess came to crown his efforts. Spanish to the 
very core he saw Louisiana shuffled back and forth 
between France and Spain as a pawn in the polit¬ 
ical game played by Napoleon. And now, in his 
advancing old age he had lived to witness the en¬ 
tire territory of Louisiana pass into the possession 
of the United States by act of the Corsican tyrant. 

A few days before Christmas, 1803, William 
C. C. Claiborne, late Governor of the Mississippi 
Territory, hoisted the American flag over the 
Cabildo in New Orleans. By this act the United 
States took formal possession of the Louisiana Ter¬ 
ritory. In March of the next year Congress passed 
an act which provided for the government of the 
newly acquired lands. The northern part, which 
embraced Missouri, the only inhabited section 
north of New Orleans, was made the District of 
Louisiana; the southern portion, which roughly em¬ 
braced what is now the state of Louisiana, was 
called the Territory of Orleans and placed under 
the temporary administration of the President of 
the United States, who was authorized to exercise 
all the military, civil and judicial powers previously 
exercised by the officers of the French and Spanish 
governments. 

The precise limits of the Louisiana Territory 
were not described in the Treaty of Cession. Con¬ 
sequently Spain and the United States found them- 


16 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


selves in dispute over the ownership of that area 
lying between the Red and Sabine Rivers. This 
disputed section was called the Neutral Strip. To 
the south and west of this No-Man’s Land lay the 
domains of His Catholic Majesty of Spain; to the 
north and east extended the territories of the in¬ 
fant but lustily developing United States. Each 
nation recognized the value of the disputed area 
and each attempted to exercise sovereignty over it. 
American and Spanish troops marched and count¬ 
er-marched through the Neutral Strip. The agents 
of each country endeavored to win the allegiance 
of the scattered inhabitants to their respective 
flags. 

Pending the settlement of the exact boundary 
between their possessions, Spain and the United 
States, as a compromise measure, agreed that Mar¬ 
cel De Soto, reputed a descendant of Hernandez 
De Soto, should exercise temporary governorship 
over the section until its final status should be de¬ 
termined. 

With the political government too weak to 
adequately protect life and property, the Neutral 
Strip became the rendezvous of outlaws, maraud¬ 
ing Indians and half-breeds, who preyed almost at 
will upon the scattered inhabitants of the deep 
forests and swampy bayous. The quiet creeks, im¬ 
penetrable swamps, tangled canebrakes, and roll¬ 
ing hills offered shelter to the lawbreakers, and 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 17 

as a result, the area between the Red and Sabine 
Rivers became a center of outlawry. 

In 1803-04 there was no more beautiful section 
in all Louisiana than this Neutral Strip. It was 
a land of bayous, those meandering waterways, 
half creek and half lake, which lay like gleaming 
jewels amid the forests. Through the jungle of 
the Neutral Strip from Natchitoches on the Red 
River, to San Antonio, Texas, ran the wavering 
Spanish Trail. Colorful even in the beginning, 
this lonely old trail of blood and romance owed 
its tortuous route to the stealthy gliding of savage 
feet in the days before the gallant De Soto was 
buried in the rolling waters of the great river he 
discovered. With the coming of France and Spain 
to this country, the old trail took on added glamor 
as over it passed French noble and Spanish grandee, 
each striving to add to the crown of his sovereign 
a new American jewel. Behind them came ad¬ 
venturer and priest, coureur de boh and trapper, 
settler and Indian half-breed to write deeper the 
marks of the trail, and to paint with their violent 
contrasts, the colorful pageantry which history 
was unfolding in this section. The marks of this 
famous Trail, or trace as the roads were then 
called, date back as far as the second decade of 
the eighteenth century and are still to be found 
in many places where the natural beauty of Louis- 


18 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


iana has been spared by the destroying hand of 
civilization. 

At the opening of the nineteenth century, how¬ 
ever, the Spanish Trail was in its prime. Then 
along this artery flowed all the life of the period. 
Pack train or mules out of the Spanish Southwest 
trotted along the Trail toward the mighty Miss¬ 
issippi and the port of New Orleans; traveler and 
adventurer, putting the river at their backs, passed 
over the Trail in the opposite direction to the 
great south and southwest where adventure lurked. 
And along the way skulked the bandit ready to rob 
and to kill. 

Beyond Natchitoches the Trail snaked its way 
southward toward New Orleans. It wound its 
sinuous curves along the banks of great swamps 
where mighty oaks, festooned in gray Spanish moss, 
gazed pensively, like monks in trailing robes, at 
their reflections in bayou and creek. Back and 
forth it bent through canebrake and swamp, mean¬ 
dering before the doors of the humble cabins of 
the settlers in remote parishes and then disappear¬ 
ing in the gloom of the forest. 

It was to this land of beauty and romance that 
Don Leon brought his little family. Though he 
hid himself away in the wilderness Don Leon had 
not neglected the education of his two children. 
He taught them himself, and from his lips Guydo 
and Marcelena learned to speak perfect Spanish 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


19 


and English. Their mother, not to be outdone, 
taught them the beautiful tongue of her beloved 
France. Thus, almost immured in the deep forest, 
the young Sepulvedors were as highly educated 
as any children of their rank either in New Orleans 
or Madrid. Lest his growing daughter suffer 
from lack of companionship, Don Leon had in¬ 
vited Madame Lisso, his nearest neighbor some 
miles away on the Bayou Pierre, to let her grand¬ 
daughter, Sabine, attend the school he taught. And 
it was in the home of the Sepulvedors that the 
little Creole beauty gained a knowledge of books 
and of English and Spanish. Day after day for 
several years she had appeared dancing along the 
path to the Sepulvedor home, like a golden but¬ 
terfly flitting through the forest wildness and in¬ 
to the hearts and lives of the proud Spanish family 
on the Bayou San Miguel. 

In the late evening Senorita Marcelena stood 
looking from her shuttered window into the deep¬ 
ening twilight, listening to the drip-drip of a slow 
rain which had begun on the night of the seven¬ 
teenth and still came down steadily from the low 
overhanging clouds. Darkness was falling early 
over the San Miguel woods, blotting out the cool 
amber lights that lay deep in the slumberous gray 
eyes of the senorita,—eyes made vastly darker by 
the inky lashes that matched the gleaming hair 
which lay on her head like blackest night. The 


20 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


beauty of the senorita was compelling, exotic, as 
tho the Latin blood of her illustrious Spanish an¬ 
cestors had concentrated in her veins to make 
this daughter of old Madrid a fair representative 
of them in the alien country to which she had 
been transplanted. 

It was of Sabine the Senorita Marcelena thought 
as she stood at the little square window. Blackness 
descended first on the woods across the bayou, 
then crept quickly over the magnolias and oaks 
in the yard. The young girl was awakened from 
her dreaming by the entrance of her soft eyed lit¬ 
tle mother. The pale rays of the lighted candle 
in her hand showed her to be still of a petite pretti¬ 
ness in spite of long, hard years in the settlement. 
She held the candle high, searching the room with 
anxious eyes. 

"Ah, there you are, mooning at the window. 
Father and Guydo have finished eating and wonder 
where you are hiding this long time.’* 

"Ho-hum, madre mio , the end of another day 
and still it rains. Such a noise the bayou is making. 
I love the sound of it when it goes on rampage 
and rumbles as it does tonight. I dream the strang¬ 
est things. Sabine and Guydo hate rainy days and 
never, never will they go near the swamp when 
it is shady and dark. Amata, do you think Sabine 
will come tomorrow?” 

"I think she will come. It is very wet in the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


21 


woods, ma amie y only if the sun shines will she 
come.” 

“But, Amata, favorito, the rain never keeps her 
away from us three days. She will come in the 
morning.” 

“Well,, then, please, it is late child, come and 
eat your supper now.” 

There was a deep, troubled look in Amata’s eyes 
as she turned and led the way for this child, a head 
taller than herself, with her queer moods so little 
understood by the tiny French woman. 

They passed through an unceiled hallway which 
led to a large kitchen at the back of the house. 
There Don Leon sat smoking a cigar of home- 
raised tobacco, talking earnestly to his tall, dark¬ 
eyed son whose wet hunting clothes steamed in 
the heat of a bright wood fire. In the huge mud 
fireplace with its pots and ovens, Amata did the 
family cooking. Tonight she dished up a bount¬ 
eous supper of o’possum and potatoes, lye hominy 
and gumbo for her daughter. Marcelena sat down 
and ate, seemingly unnoticed by the two before 
the fire. The pounding of the slow rain on the 
roof of the homey old kitchen and the roaring of 
the overflowing bayou drowned the sound of their 
voices, and Marcelena again fell a-dreaming. Her 
strange eyes, with fires of passion in their gray 
depths, looked witching in the soft firelight as 
her thoughts drifted further and further away. In 


22 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


her preoccupation she failed to note the troubled 
glances cast in her direction by the family. She 
helped Amata clear the table and quickly left the 
room, much to the relief of the others who seemed 
laboring under an emotion which, by common 
consent, they strove to hide from her. As soon 
as the door closed behind her the old don leaned 
nearer Guydo. 

"Did Pierre say he heard this at Spanish Town?” 

"It was raining and thundering so I could scarce¬ 
ly catch his whispered words, father. I cannot 
recall, however, that he mentioned Spanish Town.” 

"Well, if he had said he heard it at the fort I 
would be inclined to doubt the truthfulness of 
it. The fort is a hot-bed of gossip and lies. Every 
rumor good or bad, true or false, originates at 
Smith’s Tavern.” 

The don’s Spanish blood was fired and his fine 
old eyes blazed with strong feeling. 

"Peirre said it was whispered along the Spanish 
Trail, but no one dares go near enough to Madame 
Lisso, or Ocase either, to find out. They seem 
to fear one as much as the other.” 

"I can hardly believe Madame Lisso with her 
keen intuition or whatever it is called, would al¬ 
low that Indian dog to outwit her in such a thing 
as this.” 

Guydo looked at his father as if striving to ab¬ 
sorb some of the hope his words held, but some- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


23 


thing in his very soul seemed to say this terrible 
thing was true. The dark tragic look in his son’s 
eyes filled Don Leon with a passion of anger. 
He arose and strode back and forth about the 
kitchen, denouncing the country where such a 
thing could happen. At last he sat down, puff¬ 
ing and blowing, and swore. 

"Dios! I shall write the governor if this last out¬ 
rage has been committed. We have reached the 
limit in Louisiana. We have no law or protection 
from this daring gang of outlaws, and yet there 
are the finest people in the world right here in 
Sabine Parish who are simply terrorized by the 
bloody trail this gang has made through our state.” 

Amata rocked back and forth, her eyes large and 
troubled. 

"It seems that something must always happen 
to that Lisso woman. She seems only born for 
great troubles. But I so hoped little Sabine would 
escape. Dieu! For the old grandmother my heart 
aches.” 

"There, now, amie” said the don, patting his 
wife’s hard little hand. "It may not be true after 
all. Dios! I hope not.” 

"What do you know of this Indian, father? 
They claim his gang is composed of all sorts of 
men, from whites to the lowest Indians and Mexi¬ 
cans. Where do his brains come from? No ordi- 


24 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


nary redskin could plan with the judgment he 
uses.” 

"You are right, hi jo mio. Ocase Mataha is no 
ordinary Indian. He* is the half-breed son of a 
Chickasaw squaw and a white father. In all the 
history of Louisiana there was never a more notori¬ 
ous criminal than William Augustus Bowles. He 
was born in Maryland but took arms with the 
British against the American colonies in their fight 
for independence. Bowles had a most unusual 
personality; cruel, cunning, deceitful, but a suave 
talker. He charmed the King of England with his 
flowery speeches, and as an actor, he made a tre¬ 
mendous success on the stage of New York. Pirate, 
actor, thief, murderer, whenever hard pressed by the 
law, Bowles would fly here to Louisiana to hide. 
Then would begin a reign of terror for the settlers. 
During one of his periodic stays in Louisiana he 
lived in a Chickasaw village. There he married a 
daughter of the chief and became the father of 
Ocase Mataha. Bowles was captured many times 
but made many sensational escapes. Once he ob¬ 
tained his release by gnawing in two the ropes 
with which he was bound. However, the Spanish 
finally captured him, and enraged by the long 
calendar of his crimes, they imprisoned him in the 
dungeons of Moro Castle at Havana, where he 
died. 

"From his white father Ocase Mataha inherits 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


25 


his brains, his cool calculation, and from his Chick¬ 
asaw mother, his cruelty, cunning and blood-thirst¬ 
iness. His career has been almost as famous as that 
of his father. He has lived in Spain, he has moved 
about in the best circles of Madrid and he has 
visited Paris. Thus his naturally sharp wits have 
been schooled to even greater cunning. He is the 
most dangerous criminal in Louisiana, but he will 
meet his deserts and die for his crimes, even as 
his father did before him.” 

The thunder which had muttered ominously all 
day began again with increasing fury, and light¬ 
ning flashes lit the dark woods for miles, rain began 
to fall in sheets on the thin roof of the log house. 
Amata finally rose and with a deep sigh told them 
to go to bed. After covering the hot coals with 
ashes and securing the shutters and doors the men 
obeyed her. 

"Guydo, in his back room, stood long at the 
open window. Somewhere out there in the sombre 
blackness of the woods was the woman he loved. 
The shadow of grim fear that the morrow would 
confirm the truth of the terrible rumor that had 
travelled to them through the rain overwhelmed 
him. But hope dies hard in the young and the 
wet gray dawn found him up and dressed. He 
must learn the truth and end his horrible suspense. 

Later in the day, when the sun was beginning 
to pour golden streams through the ragged rain 


26 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


clouds, a boy and girl turned their horses from 
the Spanish Trail into the path which led to the 
home of the witch of Bayou Pierre. Marcelena 
was not weeping now. The storm of tears had 
dried, and left her gray eyes wide and dark at 
the thought of the tragedy that might have over¬ 
taken her happy carefree friend. Like her father 
she longed for revenge swift and terrible, but the 
mild tempered Guydo held no such thoughts. His 
one aching desire was to find it all untrue, and 
Sabine, his Sabine of the dancing blue eyes, safe 
in the little log cabin by the swamp. Marcelena 
led the way at a swift canter over the wet pine 
needles which covered the trail through the drag¬ 
gled woods of late summer. It was a good hour’s 
ride from the Spanish Trail to Madame Lisso’s. 
The sun shone hot and steaming on the wet woods 
before they drew up in front of the cabin. 

As they approached the house they could see 
the familiar figure of Granny Lisso huddled in her 
low chair on the rickety gallery. She was so 
shrunken that they had to look hard to see if she 
was really there. Her flapping old sun bonnet was 
pulled low over her weazened face and she watched 
them in motionless quiet as they rode to the gate 
and dismounted. Then, as if the memories they 
aroused were more than she could bear, she began 
waving and flapping her bony hands at them, her 
shrunken frame trembled with her sobbing. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


27 


"Ye ha come ta late, ta late, ta late.” 

Marcelena ran up the path and stood over her, 
patting and soothing; she pulled off the dilapidated 
bonnet and through tear dimmed eyes looked into 
the grief stricken face. 

"Now, you hush, granny. It is not too late, 
not ever too late. Just stop and tell us what hap¬ 
pened. Father says to tell you not to worry too 
much; he is writing to his good friend, the gov¬ 
ernor, and we are going to get Sabine back for 
you.” 

"Ye tell yer pap tain’t no use. 'Tis in ma ole 
heart thet ma Sabine comes ta live no more in tha 
home of her ole granny. Don’t ax how meself 
knows ... tis plain ez day—tha Indians never give 
up tha white gals.” 

"There you are wrong, Granny,” answered Mar¬ 
celena in a cold, hard voice. "Ocase Mataha is 
no God that he may do this thing. I would wager 
my life he is a coward at heart and he will be 
brought to justice. I have no patience with set¬ 
tlers of Sabine Parish for permitting themselves 
to be preyed upon month after month by this low 
half-breed and his followers. 

Her cold flashing eyes turned to Guydo sitting 
silent on the edge of the gallery. He thought, as 
did Madame Lisso, that it was too late. The 
swamps and woods had taken Sabine; for the In¬ 
dian, like the slinking and crawling animals which 


28 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


dwelt in their dark recesses, knew places where 
white men never ventured; unless old Asa who 
knew no fear of the swamps, might have wandered 
over them. Guydo’s hope was dead, and the death 
of Sabine would have been joy compared to the 
thought of her at the mercy of the half-breed. 

"Guydo! Do you know who he is . . . Guydo!” 

"Who is who . . . what do you mean?” he asked, 
realizing that his sister had twice repeated his 
name. 

"That rider,” she replied nodding toward the 
clearing. 

Guydo saw a man on a great horse with a slick 
black coat that shone in the sunlight, coming slow¬ 
ly along the path toward the cabin. His curious 
eyes took in the horseman from the stiff sombrero 
to the zapitees on his feet. The stranger reined 
in his horse before the gate, and with graceful 
ease swung his tall form to the ground. Seeming 
to reach the gate in one long stride, he came up 
the path looking about curiously. A sword hung 
in its scabbard at his side and the handle of a pistol 
protruded from a holster at his hip. As he neared 
the steps he stopped and glanced from one to the 
other of the three before his dark serious eyes rested 
upon the old woman. 

"Have I the honor of addressing Madame Lisso?” 
he asked in Spanish. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


29 


Realizing that he spoke to her, Madame Lisso 
turned to Marcelena inquiringly. 

“The senor wishes to know if he is speaking to 
Madame Lisso,” she repeated in French to the old 
witch. Then, turning her strange lovely eyes on 
the Caballero she explained. 

“Madame Lisso speaks no Spanish, senor,—only 
French and English.” 

A smile softened the stern face of the stranger 
as he bowed his thanks. This surprisingly lovely 
Spanish-American with so cultured a voice aroused 
his curiosity. 

“I thank you, senorita ” 

Dragging his gaze from the face of the love¬ 
liest woman he had ever seen, he let it fall to the 
grotesque ugliness of Madame Lisso’s sparrow-like 
face with its sharp animal eyes watching him from 
their bony sockets. 

“My name is Bon Villon. I live in the Dolette 
Hills and my nearest neighbor is Ocase Mataha.” 

In the south to call a man neighbor is to call 
him friend. The little group on the gallery stif¬ 
fened in hostility. 

“Ocase Mataha wishes me to say to Madame Lis¬ 
so that her granddaughter is safe and well at his 
home in the Dolette Hills. She was married to 
him yesterday morning in the cathedral at 
Natchitoches. Father Buren performed the cere¬ 
mony.” 


30 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


If he had announced to them that Sabine had 
cut her fair throat their shock and amazement 
could have been no greater. To be a victim of 
the half-breed was one thing, but to be married 
to him in the holy Catholic church was another. 
The cunning Indian had done the one thing that 
bound the girl to him for life. Unable at first 
to absorb the terrible meaning of the message they 
gazed at its bearer in silence. Gradually Bon Vil¬ 
lon saw hope die in the wondrous eyes of the girl, 
and the rigidity that had held them frozen for the 
moment melted in futile helplessness. When the 
stranger’s glance encountered the eyes of the youth 
he was startled at the cold suspicion and dislike 
he saw there, but it was the flaming contempt in 
the eyes of the young girl that made him curse the 
misfortune of his errand here today. This was 
the first time he had felt such contempt, in a 
woman’s eyes, and a dull red crept up his neck 
and under the bronze of his handsome face. Not 
a muscle of his face changed, however, and he 
made no effort to change the opinion they had 
so hastily formed of him. He met their hostile 
looks with dark brooding eyes that held no shame. 

Madame Lisso was the first to recover. She 
clawed the sun bonnet back from her weazened 
face, and gave the tall Spaniard a long keen look, 
as if reading the secrets of his very soul. 

"The hook-nosed thief scart ma leetle gal into 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


31 


marriage. She stays by him now; that he sensed, 
tha cunnin’ son uv tha devil. I have a leetle bundle 
ta sen* her, ma son. Be ye goin’ that er way?” 

"Yes, Madame Lisso. I shall be only too glad 
to carry any bundle or message you wish to send,” 
the stranger replied gravely. 

"Wait ye then son, an I fetch hit.” 

With this she hobbled into the cabin leaving a 
frozen silence behind her. Bon Villon’s eyes 
glanced about the yard as though unconscious of 
Marcelena’s scornful silence, but beneath this seem¬ 
ing indifference he was wondering how these two 
proud-eyed aristrocrats came to be here with this 
queer old relic of the backwoods. 

The morning sun poured a golden light over the 
rich velvet of his vestidura, and Marcelena for¬ 
got her resentment for a moment in the thought 
that he was the Spanish cavalier of her day-dreams. 
She had never seen his like before. With a sud¬ 
den glance, the Caballero caught the unguarded 
look in her eyes and the rosy flush that mounted 
to the roots of her gleaming black hair. At this 
moment Madame Lisso came from the cabin with 
a small bundle in her shriveled hands. 

"Theese be her clos’, senor, an theese . . .” She 
unwrapped from a mullein leaf a dried rabbit’s 
foot, so old it was pithy, with most of the hair 
worn off from much use in conjuring. "Thees, 
my son, be tha lef’ hin’ foot uv tha rabbit co’t by 


32 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


me own self from tha graves in tha dark uv tha 
nicht. Lay hit in tha hand uv ma leetle gran’- 
daughter an bid her kape it nigh at all times.” She 
rewrapped it and gave it to him. "Ye hav’ set 
yer trap in the richt place, senor. Lie low—bide 
yer time and ye’ll git ’em. But watch—Go now 
an kape a close watch on ma leetle gran’darter.” 
With these strange words she turned and hippety 
hopped to her chair, sat down and pulled her sun 
bonnet close over her face. 

Bon Villon looked after her, surprise written 
on his face. Her strange words had touched some 
vital spot he had believed known only to him¬ 
self. Then as if grateful for her faith in him he 
answered gravely: 

"Thank you for your trust Madame Lisso, and 
rest assured I shall merit it. I bid you good day 
and hasten to deliver your message.” 

He bowed to them all as he said goodbye, but 
his last glance was for Marcelena, a sweeping look 
of mockery—as tho’ he smiled inwardly at the nar¬ 
row minded part she had played. His glance, 
fleeting though it was, caused her a feeling of 
shame as she watched the long swinging strides 
that took him down the path to his horse. Grace¬ 
fully he leaped into his saddle and without look¬ 
ing back rode swiftly over the clearing and dis¬ 
appeared in the woods. 

As the trees closed in on him, Marcelena stood 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


33 


silent, preplexed, her eyes on the spot where he 
had vanished. Reason told her he was unworthy, 
and that he received the kind of treatment he 
deserved as messenger for the odious half-breed. 
Her woman’s intuition, however, told her some¬ 
thing else again. A provoking feeling of un¬ 
certainty assailed her. She turned to look at Guydo 
who was showing his astonishment at the friendly 
attitude Madame Lisso had assumed towards this 
mysterious friend of Ocase. 

"Your feeling for Ocase must have undergone 
a sudden change, Granny, from the flattering 
treatment you accorded his self-confessed friend. 
This Senor Bon Villon is, for all we know, the 
brains of the outlaw gang . . . He may even have 
helped to steal Sabine!” 

"Nay, ye wrong Senor Bon Villon, Guydo.” 
And there was absolute certainty in the witch’s 
voice. 

"Don’t let the handsome rascal take you in, 
Granny. He is bad, and bold with it. He and 
his half-breed friend may yet hang from the same 
tree. They will for a certainty if he continues 
to go about so frankly admitting their relations.” 
he persisted bitterly. 

"Na, ma son, I done tole ye thet ye be wrong. 
Tha Senor ha his sacrets, but not whut ye air 
thinkin. Git ye a cheer, honey.” she said, turn¬ 
ing to Marcelena who stood listening closely to 


34 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


what they said. Perhaps Madame Lisso was right— 
she usually was, the senoretta was thinking: sud¬ 
denly, she found the gloom of the day had vanished. 


III. 


All night Guydo Sepulvedor had tossed on his 
bed. Not once had his eyes closed and not once 
had he been able to free himself from the pain 
that gnawed at mind and heart. The story told 
him by Madame Lisso the day before, and the 
unexpected appearance of Senor Bon Villon with 
his announcement that Sabine was married to 
Ocase Mataha, had changed him in a single day 
from a careless high strung boy flushed with the 
first stirrings of love, to a tortured serious eyed 
man. With the easy vision of youth he had 
dreamed that in the fulness of time, he and Sabine 
would marry, build themselves a new home not 
far from his father’s cabin, and start a family 
of their own. But now . . . 

A cry rose in his throat. Within the past 
twenty-four hours he had seen all the rosy dreams 
of his youth shattered. Sabine, his sweetheart, she 
with whom he had walked from school evenings 
without number; she whom he had taught the 
secrets of the woods, was now the squaw of the re¬ 
pulsive Ocase, sharer of his bed, to be, perhaps, 


35 


36 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


the mother of his children—Sabine, unhappy, mis¬ 
treated . . . 

Guydo dug sharp nails into his moist palms and 
rolled restlessly under his sheet. Neither he nor 
his father could hope to match themselves against 
the half-breed who was the terror of the district. 
If they attempted vengeance they would be anni¬ 
hilated, swept from his path by a single blow of 
the bandit’s arm. If only the Spanish authorities 
would send troops to apprehend the robber gang, 
or Governor Claiborne could be persuaded to send 
United States soldiers from New Orleans to punish 
the outlaw who defied the authority of both 
nations, and robbed at will the citizens of each. 

Unable longer to endure the torture of his 
thoughts the lad arose stealthily, drew on his moc¬ 
casins, and with sombrero in hand, stole noiselessly 
through the cabin. As he passed the fireplace he 
took his rifle from the hooks above, for, during 
that critical time, no male dared venture beyond 
doors unarmed. 

The first pale streaks of dawn were staining 
the eastern sky as he stood on the gallery. With 
a quick glance about him, Guydo ran down the 
dew-covered path to where the little Bayou San 
Miguel poured over flat limestone rocks into a 
crystal pool. Here he paused long enough to 
dash the cool clear water into his feverish eyes, 
before he forded the shallow stream, and with the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


37 


long easy stride of the woodsman, pushed on 
down the Spanish Trail. The interlocking limbs 
of the old oaks cast an eerie darkness about him. 
In the cool dim aisles of the trees, beside the quiet 
swamp waters, he would cool the fever in his 
blood and find relief from thoughts that tortured. 

As he plunged deeper into the forest the sun 
came up. The light shot down through the trees, in 
faint lancelike shafts which illumined the dark¬ 
ness rather than dispelled it; but, as the sun gath¬ 
ered strength, came in broader beams until the 
shadows were vanquished and full day was upon 
him. Time and hunger forgotten, Guydo plunged 
on, his mind still going in a vicious circle. 

At noon he found himself in the vicinity of 
Fallen Springs. Thirsty and tired by his long 
tramp he turned aside to drink from, the cool wat¬ 
ers of the springs. On hands and knees he knelt 
and drank, his lips ruffling the mirror-surface, 
then rose and wiped his mouth on the back of 
his hand. A sudden thought came to him. What 
would his mother and sister think of his sudden 
departure? He felt all the young man’s dislike 
for admitting disappointment in love, but his 
mother would look questioningly at him, would 
make inquiry. He shrugged his shoulders im¬ 
patiently, well he would say he had scouted about 
in the woods. 

As he turned to retrace his steps toward the 


38 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


trail, his ear caught the sound of a horse. He 
quickly glanced about. The rider might be any 
one of the numerous ruffians who roved the woods 
to rob and kill. Behind him was the spring, in 
front the path down which the unknown was 
coming. With a quickness natural to him, the 
lad climbed a tree and crouched motionless thirty 
feet above the spring in the thick foliage. 

Eyes alert, muscles tensed, Guydo waited. Near¬ 
er and nearer came the sounds. A sorrel horse 
turned the bend in the Trail, and with a sudden 
quickening of his pulse, the young man recog¬ 
nized Ocase, the newly made husband of Sabine. 

The Indian dismounted and his quick eyes caught 
the faint imprint left by Guydo’s moccasin. Bend¬ 
ing forward he studied the prints carefully, his 
eyes followed the marks to the spring, paused at 
the prints of hand and knee where Guydo had 
stopped to drink, and retraced them until they 
were lost in the underbrush. 

"Ugh! Indian!” he grunted. 

With a little sigh of relief Guydo thanked 
fortune he had worn moccasins, and relaxed the 
finger poised on the trigger of his rifle. Ap¬ 
parently satisfied that he was alone, Ocase whistled 
shrilly. The signal was answered from the woods 
and in a few moments a gang of fourteen or more 
white men with a few Indians joined the waiting 
leader. Ocase began to address his men, but though 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


39 


Guydo listened intently, he could not distinguish 
his words. Occasionally he caught the name of 
Bon Villon, but it was quickly lost in the smother 
of Spanish and Indian the men were whispering 
to each other. 

"This morning I met a pack train near Natchi¬ 
toches,’’ said Ocase, finally raising his voice. The 
half-breed could, with the most surprising abrupt¬ 
ness change from the impassive stolid Indian, to 
the fluent gesticulating Spaniard—a result of the 
curious blend of the twq races in his veins. "The 
leader of the train was frightened. He thought 
me a robber. I quieted his fear by telling him I 
was a Spaniard on my way to Natchitoches with 
a dispatch to the Spanish commander, and showed 
him the letter from Don Herror which we took 
from the dispatch-bearer we captured in the woods 
last week. After I learned the route of the train 
I made my escape and summoned you. It’s the 
richest load of hides and silver that’s been along 
the trail. We hide about in the bushes—They 
come. Ough . . 

Ocase had heard something! He motioned for 
silence. The outlaws became as statues. Then 
the sound of a horse’s step reached them. At a 
nod from Ocase the gang disappeared behind tree 
and bush, and left their chief alone by the pool. 

Tense, Guydo peered between the branches of 
the tree. Down the trail rode Senor Bon Villon. 


40 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


He was in red velvet, and the silver ornaments 
on his coat winked as the alternate patterns of 
shadow and sunlight fell upon them. 

Ocase hailed him. 

"Hey, Cap! Hunting?” 

Guydo started. For many hours he had been 
puzzling his brain to arrive at the relationship be¬ 
tween the half-breed and the Spaniard. When 
he first met him at Madame Lisso’s, Guydo was 
convinced that the handsome stranger was in league 
with the bandit chief. Now, seeing him ride so 
calmly to the rendezvous of the outlaw, and 
greeted by him so familiarly—well some day, some¬ 
where, he was going to pay! 

Bon Villon reined in his horse and looked ap¬ 
praisingly at the Indian. 

"No, I am not hunting,” he said coldly. "I 
am on my way back to the Dolette Hills. I have 
delivered your message to Madame Lisso and, in 
turn, I am carrying this package to Sabine for 
her.” He indicated the little bundle on the saddle 
before him. 

"And I want to inform you that Colonel Cush¬ 
ing is at Natchitoches in garrison with his troops,” 
continued Bon Villon. 

"Damn Cushing! We are too busy to think about 
his damned American troops!” 

Bon Villon’s eyes flashed. 

"It will pay you to think—every soldier in the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


41 


garrison has been ordered to capture you!” 

From his perch in the tree Guydo saw the long, 
inscrutable look Ocase gave the Spaniard. The 
Indian gave a low whistle and immediately from 
tree and bush the outlaw gang silently gathered 
about their chief. Bon Villon started in astonish¬ 
ment at this sudden marshalling of forces. 

"Will you join us this morning, Cap?” 

"What do you mean by that?” 

"We have game in sight and are willing to divide 
the booty if you’ll come with us.” 

Bon Villon drew himself up haughtily. His 
face paled and with dark flashing eyes he burst 
into a flood of vituperation. 

"Robber! Murder! Do you think I would join 
you in any of your dastardly crimes? Too long 
I have borne with your impudence. Submit to 
it longer I will not! I . . .” 

"But the booty is immense, Cap!” replied Ocase. 
"A whole pack train of silver from San Antonio 
will soon pass along here, and we will transfer 
the treasure to our possession. It will be but 
child’s play for we are many and they are few, 
unsuspicious ...” 

"Then I shall myself warn them!” 

"No, Senor Captain,” interrupted Ocase cooly 
as he motioned for his men who had stirred an¬ 
grily at Bon Villon’s threat, to remain silent. "You 
will not!” 


42 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"But I will,” insisted the Spaniard. 

"Have you so soon forgotten our little affair in 
Madrid?” asked the other. 

Bon Villon made a hopeless gesture with his 
hands while his expression slowly changed. 

"You will not warn them because I ask you not 
to do so,” said the Indian, bending upon the other 
a look of the utmost assurance. 

The two men faced each other for a moment, 
then, without a word, Bon Villon wheeled his 
horse and dashed back up the trail. The outlaws 
looked at each other questioningly, and one or two 
made as if to follow the intrepid horseman, but 
with a word or two, Ocase quieted their fears. 

"Lebo, you take your men to the left; Labat, 
the right. I will go with Cane to that clump 
of trees. The pack train will soon be here.” 

Guydo clung to his tree. Below him lay con¬ 
cealed some twenty of the most desperate outlaws 
in three parishes. Not only was he powerless to 
escape or to warn the traders, but he himself was 
in great danger. A wandering eye might spy 
him aloft in his tree, an unguarded movement 
might betray his presence, and then he would 
share the fate planned for the pack train. 

In the stillness all the tiny sounds of noonday 
forest life rang loud in his ears; the rustle of the 
leaves, the call of the insects, the song of a bird, 
even the fall of an occasional twig, sounded un- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


43 


naturally loud. Presently, mingled faintly with 
other sounds, Guydo heard the slow tramp of mules 
and the jingle of harness. Down the trail toward 
the pool came the pack train, a company of peace¬ 
ful Spanish traders conveying their goods from 
San Antonio to New Orleans by way of Natchi¬ 
toches. A moment more and the unsuspecting 
men would walk into the trap set for them. The 
boy’s throat suddenly constricted; he could not 
let the men perish unwarned. 

"Espagnol! Espagnol! Guard yourselves. You 
are trapped!” 

Guydo’s cry and the shrill whistle of Ocase came 
simultaneously, and the ruffians rushed out of 
their hiding shooting into the petrified little cav¬ 
alcade. A cloud of dust and smoke almost blotted 
the scene from Guydo’s eyes; curses, groans and 
shrieks rent the air. The terrified mules brayed, 
wounded horses added their snorts and shrill cries 
to the uproar. After the first onslaught, the trad¬ 
ers, realizing their plight against superior num¬ 
bers, abandoned their pack animals, and spurring 
their horses in terror, galloped wildly down the 
trail, leaving the train in possession of the robbers. 

With beating heart Guydo gazed down from 
his tree. Stretched lifeless beside their mounts or 
fast dying in pools of their own blood, lay twelve 
men. To his satisfaction he saw that five of them 
were members of Ocase’s gang. After all, his warn- 


44 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


ing cry had enabled the attacked traders to in¬ 
flict some punishment on the robbers. Immedi¬ 
ately, the outlaws drug the dead back into the 
woods and hid them in the undergrowth, after 
stripping them of such articles as caught their 
fancy. 

The leader of the traders, wounded in the arm, 
regained consciousness to find himself tied secure¬ 
ly to a tree. His face twitched in surprise as Ocase 
approached him. 

"Why, my acquaintance of the morning!” he 
exclaimed. 

"Quite true,” answered the Indian insolently. 
"I enjoyed your drinks and your conversation. You 
gave me valuable information.” 

"You, a spy and a Spaniard!” 

The half-breed grunted with amusement. 

"Spaniard or Indian or American,—whichever 
pleases my fancy and my interests, Senor Bartelo!” 

"So you know even my name?” 

"Ough! My agent at San Antonio sees to little 
things like that. But you are fortunate, senor. I 
never kill one with whom I have drunk a toast— 
not even when he has cost me several of my men. 
No, do not thank me; it is one of my little peculiar¬ 
ities.” 

"Son of a dog! Breed of Judas, I’d rather die 
a thousand deaths than owe my life to your hands!” 

Ocase shrugged. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


45 


"You can’t make me kill you, Senor Bartelo, 
with all your words, I’m going to send you on your 
way. Here, Lebo, escort this Caballero on his way 
to Natchitoches; free him within sight of the 
town.” 

Cursing, the prisoner was thrown across his horse, 
and accompanied by Lebo, he soon disappeared up 
the trail toward Natchitoches. 

Quickly the bandits gathered up their booty, 
and led by Ocase, disappeared among the trees. 
When the last faint sound of their steps had died 
into silence Guydo, stiff and cold, climbed down 
from his tree. Weary and hungry, he left the 
springs and hastened toward home. 

Afternoon shadows were lengthening across the 
trail when he came to the Bayou Scie road. As 
he walked along, peering cautiously about him lest 
he be intercepted by one of the robbers, he heard 
the tramp of horses behind him. Warned by the 
occurrences of the morning he slipped from the 
road and, scurrying into the canebrake, hid him¬ 
self carefully as two horsemen came into view. 
They rode slowly and scanned the canebrake on 
each side of the road as they approached. 

"Here’s a good place,” said one of the men. 
"We’ll get him this time 'cause he’s bound to pass 
along pretty soon.” 

"Sure,” agreed the other. "We’ll get him this 
time I 'low.” 


4 6 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Turning aside, the men passed within a few 
paces of the concealed Guydo, and riding deeper 
into the thicket dismounted, tied their horses and 
retraced their steps toward the trail. Guydo 
watched them carefully hide themselves so that 
their long rifles commanded the road. 

"Another ambush,” thought the young man. 
"How much murder must I see in a single day?” 

He scrutinized the trail. These men had not 
been members of Ocase’s gang, they must be sur¬ 
vivors of the pack train, planning revenge for the 
death of their comrades. 

Soon there was a slow thud-thud of an approach 
ing horse. Guydo’s heart almost stopped beat¬ 
ing as for the second time that day, he saw Bon 
Villon come riding toward a death trap. The two 
men in ambush levelled their weapons and crouched 
expectantly while the rider came closer. Noiselessly 
Guydo raised his rifle and aimed at the trigger hand 
of the man nearest him. A scream of pain followed 
his shot and the two bandits, startled at the attack 
from their rear, jumped to their feet and ran 
through the thicket. In excitement Guydo leaped 
up and turned to rush after them, but a stern, cool 
"Halt! Or you are a dead man!” interrupted him. 

Startled, the young Spaniard turned and looked 
down the black muzzle of a huge pistol held by 
Bon Villon. Half closed eyes hard as steel, re- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


47 


garded him. The rifle dropped from the boy’s 
grasp and his hands went up over his head. 

"Why did you try to murder me from ambush?” 
demanded the Caballero’s hard voice. 

"You are mistaken, senor. I did not shoot at 
you. It was the two men you heard running through 
the cane.” 

Bon Villon smiled unbelievingly. 

"Must I recall to you the scene at Madame 
Lisso’s?” 

Guydo flushed. 

"And if you did not shoot at me, why were you 
hiding?” 

"I heard these men planning to kill some one. I 
did not know it was you until you came in sight.” 

"How do I know you are not lying?” 

"Though I bear you no love, Senor Bon Villon, 
no Sepulvedor can watch a man shot in the back 
and remain silent. Nor will he allow a man to call 
him what you havej just called me. Get down off 
that horse and I’ll show you what I think of you!” 

The older man still eyed the angry youth uncer¬ 
tainly. 

"Some one shot at me. I find you here in the 
thicket—rifle smoking—poised for flight—” 

"Come with me. I think I can prove to you that 
I speak the truth.” 

Guydo led the Spaniard to the spot where the 
two ruffians had hidden. There on the ground lay 


48 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


a rifle. Guydo stooped, picked up two bloody fin¬ 
gers that lay beside the weapon and held them up 
for the Spaniard to see. 

"You see, senor, they’re not mine!” 

"Par Dios! It must be they!” Guydo heard him 
mutter under his breath, and to the youth’s great 
surprise he saw a glad look spread over the stern 
features of this now more than ever mysterious 
man. 

"I owe my life to you, Senor Sepulvedor,” he said 
in an humble tone. I apologize for my unjust sus¬ 
picion. I am glad of what has happened here today. 
We—will wait. Please count me your friend 
whether you are mine or not. My horse is tired and 
I have a long ride home. I bid you adios senor” 

Guydo bowed and the two parted, Bon Villon 
to pursue his way into the hills and the young lad 
to continue his weary plodding to the Bayou San 
Miguel. Just what was the relationship of Bon 
Villon to the bandit, Ocase, whom he would warn, 
but not join in deviltry? Bon Villon’s saying, "It 
must be they,” was puzzling. But, behind all, re¬ 
mained the unsolved mystery of Bon Villon’s part 
in the abduction and marriage of Sabine. 

As Guydo, hours later, walked wearily up the 
path toward his home he saw his father and mother 
standing expectantly upon the gallery. Marcelena 
left her parents and came skipping down the path. 

"Hi, Guydo-spido,” she began banteringly. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


49 


"Where have you been all day—” Her voice faded 
as she saw the tired, haggard look on her brother’s 
face. 

"Why, son, you look all tired out. Anythng 
wrong?” asked Don Leon. 

"Another robbery and murder at Fallen Springs,” 
he answered wearily, surrendering his rifle to his 
mother. 

Dona Amata gave a cry of sympathy. 

"Oh, oh, the traders! They passed here this 
morning. Was it they?” asked Marcelena, her gray 
eyes flashing with excitement. 

"Yes, a friendly bunch of Spaniards robbed and 
murdered. I saw it all and have had the devil of a 
time.” 

He slumped down on a bench while his family 
gathered around him. 

"Ocase, the half-breed as usual,” he said, an¬ 
swering the unasked question. 

"The cut-throat son of hell!” flamed the don. 
"Something must be done.” 

"Sit down, Leon, and let Guydo tell about it,” 
said Dona Amata quietly. 

Quickly the boy described his adventure in the 
woods and the meeting with Ocase at the springs. 
When he mentioned the name of Captain Bon Vil¬ 
lon Marcelena clasped her hands and cried, "Oh, 
our man of mystery! What did he do?” 

Her father frowned at her interruption. 


50 The Witch of Bayou Pierre 

"Your fine gentleman is hand in glove with the 
Indian. Wait till I finish and you’ll see,” reproved 
Guydo. 

When the lad told of the robbery and the 
murders, Don Leon stamped angrily about the 
gallery. 

"Governor Claiborne shall know of this. A 
damned outrage, a disgrace to Louisiana. Thirty 
years of Spanish rule to end like this—hell and the 
devil!” 

"I know you must be hungry son, HI go get 
you something to eat,” said'Dona Amata rising. 

"Wait, mother. I have more to tell. You 
would think that the robbery would be enough for 
one day, but on my way home I came across Cap¬ 
tain Bon Villon again!” 

"Oh!” breathed Marcelena. Father and mother 
leaned forward expectantly. Something of the 
actor’s enthusiasm and mimicry came into Guydo 
as he described the ambush planned for Senor Bon 
Villon and his part in foiling it. At the climax of 
his story he reached into the folds of his shirt and 
threw the two bloody fingers on the floor. The 
women screamed at sight of the gory trophies. 

"Well, bless my soul,” cried the old don when he 
had heard of Bon Villon’s apology. "He acted 
honorably there.” 

"I’m glad he escaped. And you were very brave, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


51 


Guydo, to save him,” said his sister, her eyes gleam¬ 
ing. 

Guydo frowned. 

"He may have acted honorably that time, but 
if he had any spark of manhood or character he’d 
kill that half-breed!” 

"His connection with Ocase is puzzling,” ad¬ 
mitted Don Leon. "What can he have in common 
with that son of Augustus Bowles?” 

Leaving his father to his thoughts Guydo fol¬ 
lowed his mother into the house. 


IV. 


Twilight had given place to night’s shadows. 
The sky in the region of the west loomed with dark 
clouds which obscured the sinking moon. The at¬ 
mosphere was heavy as tho a mist was falling. A 
lonesome, silence had settled over the dark woods. 
This change was felt by Ocase Mataha’s gang as 
they rode through the gathering gloom. All was 
silent except for the sound of wild animals scurry¬ 
ing to shelter at the approach of the horses. The 
men had been riding hard since leaving the Spanish 
Trail, and with the sinking of the sun, gloom had 
descended upon them like a suffocating blanket. 

"Dam them varments!” cursed a man named 
Cane. "They make me nervous.” 

"You ain’t afeered of varments after livin’ in 
these parts as long as YOU have? I swear—an’ 
startin’ at every noise.” said his companion, Lebo. 

"I ain’t myself tonight, Lebo. I feel so strange. 
I’m dreadin’ somethin’ terrible. I believe I’m 
marked.” said Cane in a subdued, scared voice. 

"Marked? Haw, ha-ha! Marked fer what? 
What you mean?” 


52 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


53 


Cane touched Lebo on the arm. 

"This is the seventeenth of the month!” 

"You don’t say. Then Fm serious too.” 

There was an instant of strained silence. Cane 
spurred up his horse. 

"That rifleman—is that what’s worrying you, 
Cane?” 

Cane looked searchingly behind him into the 
black night. 

"I believe he’s gone crazy,” thought Lebo. Aloud 
he said, "Cheer up, man. What you think of the 
haul we made today?” 

Cane lifted his head with a frightened start. 

"I-I don’t care for it. How can I tell, when 

I feel Fm at the edge of a abyss, a-lookin’ into it. 
Let’s ride fast or Fll die in these dark woods! He’s 
a-stalkin’ us now— I feel it. He’s no man and it’s 
always on the seventeenth. Last month he got 
Romero.” 

One of the men riding in advance said: "It’s all 
because we helped the chief steal the old witch’s 
granddaughter an’ she’s shore a witch all right. She 
conjures whenever she wants too, an’ she’s got the 
devil a-trackin’ us like a deerhoun’ until we’re 
afeered to look out from under kiver at night. It’s 
crack—he never shoots but onct—an’ one of us is 
boun’ to kick the dust! It’s shore witchcraft—an’ 
always happens on the seventeenth.” 

After they entered the swamp the going was slow. 


54 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


The soft dirt gave under the horse’s feet, and the 
pack mules were tired. Cane crowded his horse as 
close as he could get to the giant Lebo. A panther 
screamed—like a child crying in the dark. 

The men looked into the dark woods with paling 
faces. 

Lebo urged his horse to a livelier gait. 

"Devil or ghost,” he said. "We must ride.’ 

Quickening their pace they came up with the 
men driving the pack mules ahead. 

"Where has the chief gone?” asked, Cane. 

"He left hours ago for other parts, telling me to 
go with you and see to the packs,” answered Lebo. 

Again Cane expressed his fear in a frightened 
voice. So unseasy was his tone that Lebo was 
startled as Cane leaned forward in his saddle and 
cried out shrilly, "I dreamed last night I was a-going 
to die.” 

"Hell, man, dreams don’t count. Cheer up, you 
might have went to bed drunk. We’ll send that 
fellow about his business if he pesters around here.” 

Cane was quiet with an overwhelming fear. 
The reality of the past months had suddenly opened 
before him. The death of his companions one 
by one, at the hands of the phantom Rifleman on 
the seventeenth of each month, had worked upon 
his superstitious mind until it had become a real, 
tangible ghost. So it was with most of the gang. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


55 


They feared nothing so much as this phantom 
Rifleman. 

Through the dark the men drove their pack 
mules in a silence broken only by the hoofbeats 
of the animals. Suddenly the sharp report of a 
rifle echoed on the still night air and struck terror 
into the hearts of the robbers. Cane swayed to 
one side, then dropped from his saddle. 

Stark terror held the men chained for a moment. 
Then with fearful cries, leaving the pack mules 
behind, they tore through the woods. Spurs clat¬ 
tered as the men leaned forward in their saddles 
to urge their horses on. The fatal seventeenth had 
again claimed its victim! 

After leaving the packs with Lebo, Ocase had 
gone ahead to join Joe Sohone at the San Miguel 
trail on the way to Bayou Scie. He had an hour’s 
fast riding before he met Joe. 

"'Ha, Joe, my Samson! I expected to be here 
first,” he hailed. "Now to Madame Lisso’s.” 

At this announcement Joe turned and gave him 
a hard look. 

"To Madame Lisso’s — your Squaw’s grand¬ 
mother?” 

"Yes, I intend to interview the old gal.” 

"It’s risky, Cap. I don’t like it!” 

"Ough—dam it, got to see her. If she can talk 
to spirits, she can tell us who this rifleman is. I’m 
losing my men and some are quitting me—I’m 


56 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


going to make her call this thing off—ough, take 
a drink.” 

They stopped and took a long swig, sat a minute 
—took another. 

"Le’s study over this affair a little, Cap. I— 
don’t like it. I—’low the less we have to do with 
the old witch the better off we be. You see—Cap, 
we stole her granddaughter an’ she’s laid it up 
agin’ us. Now, I—” 

"Afraid, are you?” 

Ocase’s tone was scornful. 

"No, damn it! I’m not afraid of the devil him¬ 
self! I’ll go to see your damned mother-in-law.” 

The path to the cabin was narrow. Few visited 
the dark recesses of the place. Silence usually 
reigned about it save for the bird songs in the day 
time, and the screech of the owl, the howl of the 
wolf and the scream of the panther at night. It 
would have been hard to find a more secluded 
spot than Madame Lisso’s cabin. Tucked into the 
side of a hill it consisted of two living rooms with 
a dirt chimney, two doors and one window. The 
roof was of boards, weighted down by long poles 
along each course. The land was of dark gray 
mould from which grew thick underbrush and 
trees monstrous in size. 

In this forest there was a confusing network of 
young trees and vines, twined over young beech, 
pine and dog-wood, and the rotten stumps of many 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 57 

fallen logs. To the east the thicket fell away to 
the Bayou Scie swamp which was covered by a 
sea of palmetto and cane, cypress and myrtle 
bushes. The tall magnolia, its branches filled with 
smooth leaves and white blossoms stood reigning 
queen of the forest. 

Old Asa had just returned from one of his long 
tramps on which he had seen and tracked the half- 
breed’s gang. His mind being clearer than usual 
he gave an account of it to his mother. Madame 
Lisso at once became excited. She pursed her lips 
and her eyes sank far back in their sockets. 

"Och, whither were they going?” 

"Arter gitting back home,” replied Asa. 

"To Dole, to Dole Hills?” 

"Ya,” grunted Asa. 

"Me God, me God. The devils they are. No 
good can come of them. Had packs, packs of gold 
and silver?” 

"Aye.” 

"Oh me! They stole my leetle gal, the same 
devils. Poor ole critter I be, lef’ alone to grieve 
and worry meself wid ye, Asa, and ye ain’t got 
no sense.” 

"Aye, mam,” grunted Asa. 

"Pore ole lonely critter me am. Mout Ocase 
come dis way?” 

"Mout, mam.” 


58 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


“Devils take ’em. He has me chile, me Sabine, 
me Sabine.” 

She went to the window and opened the shutter. 
The night was black and storm clouds were hurry¬ 
ing from the West. She turned and said to old 
Asa: "Shove in a pine knot and go to bed.” 

"Aye, mam.” 

Throwing a pine knot on the fire he crawled 
into the little shedroom to sleep, while Madame 
Lisso sat humped in her straight backed chair. 
The gray wisps of hair fell about her shrunken, 
wrinkled face that looked even more distorted in 
the gleam from the pine knot flame. She was 
thinking of Sabine as she listened to the rain pat¬ 
tering softly on the roof. 

"I’m a pore, ole crittur and don’t want that 
Ocase pesterin’ round me. The devil take ’im.” 

Madame Lisso sat thinking and dozing far into 
the night. 

"Hello!” came from without. 

She came to with a start and, creeping to the win¬ 
dow, peered out. 

"Lord, they are come.” 

"Hello, you old squaw! Get up!” 

She drew the shutter. 

"Who comes?” she quavered in a shrill voice, and, 
crossing the room, peeped through a crack in the 
door. In the vivid lightning she saw two men on 
horses. She stood breathless, waiting. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


59 


"Hello! Damn you, wake up!” 

She strained her eyes and spoke in her queer old 
voice. 

"Who be ye?” 

"Chief Ocase and one of my friends, Granny.” 

The ran was pelting, the hurly-burly of the 
clouds was on. There came a blinding flash of 
lightning, a great crash of thunder and for a min¬ 
ute the old woman stood as if stunned. All day 
she had felt sad and strange and now, here was the 
half-breed chief whom she hated and feared. There 
was a violent knocking on the door. As Madame 
Lisso lifted the latch it flew open and the two men 
stumbled into the room. 

"I’m clumsy tonight, mammy, a thousand par¬ 
dons,” said Ocase as he flapped his coat to one side 
and showed the polished handle of a pistol. 

"Ye hadn’t orter pester me at night and me a 
pore ole lone critter and no one to protect me ’cept 
Asa and his senses gone.” 

"I’m one of the family, you know!” 

"For heaven’s sake, ye brat uv er squaw, ye have 
broke me heart already. Do ye think me forgits?” 
screeched the old woman. 

Their eyes met, hers sinking deep down, his glanc¬ 
ing furtively aside. The room was very quiet. There 
was only the patter of the rain on the roof, the 
deep thunder and the dropping of coals from the 
hearth and the flicker of the pine knot fire. 


60 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"They call you a witch,” began Ocase. "Can 
you tell me—” 

"Shet up,” she snapped. "Don’t ye call me ole 
witch. Is thet why ye come here? I’m na witch 
—jest a pore lone ole critter.” 

The lightning gave a spasmodically uncertain 
light as the fire flickered out and the wind lifted 
Madame Lisso’s long gray locks. 

"Oh me, oh me, go and leave me, ye sassy devil!” 

"My men are being killed on the seventeenth of 
every month by a secret enemy. Now tell me who 
does it, old witch,” said Ocase, trying to frighten 
her. 

, "God knows,” replied she. 

As she spoke a tongue of lightning flashed along 
the side of the cabin, struck the mud chimney, and 
a great ball of fire plunged into the ashes, burying 
itself in the hearth. Ashes and embers flew about 
the room. So great was the explosion that Ocase 
and Joe were hurled to the floor and Madame Lisso 
flung into the corner. A tomb-like darkness fol¬ 
lowed the lightning flash, and as the stunned oc¬ 
cupants of the cabin recovered their senses, a stench 
of brimstone assailed their nostrils, bit deep into 
their lungs and filled their eyes with smarting, acrid 
tears. 

The two men crawled to the door and tumbled 
out, as the shriveled old woman darted through 
Asa’s room into the back yard. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


61 


Revived by the fresh air, Ocase and Joe hurriedly 
mounted their horses to ride away from the be¬ 
witched cabin which housed Madame Lisso and her 
devil consort, who had nearly suffocated them with 
brimstone. Joe Sohone even claimed afterwards 
that he actually saw the devil with horns as he swept 
by them. Madame Lisso’s chicanery was a settled 
fact in their minds forever. They rode swiftly 
down the trail made clear by the continuous light¬ 
ning. A few miles down the bayou they found 
shelter in a ravine until the storm and rain had 
passed. 

Old Madame Lisso was recovering her breath 
when the robbers rode away. 

"Holy Mither,” she said after several deep breaths 
of cool, fresh air. "The Lord has saved me agin.” 

Her voice quavered pitifully but, with a revul¬ 
sion of feeling, she clutched her withered hands and 
panted wrathfully, "Be gone, ye deal of satan who 
is good for ye yet.” 

She re-entered her house which was still stifling 
with the smell of sulphur. Getting down on her 
knees she fanned the smouldering fire to a bright 
blaze and saw the old pot of sulphur that had been 
struck by the lightning. A smile crossed her face 
and caused her jaw bone to twist where the sharp 
chin jerked to one side. 

"Me brimstone co’t fire, sho’ ez ma mither was an 


62 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Irish woman, ma father a Frenchman and meself 
an ole witch.” 

With that peculiar smile still on her face she went 
to see if Asa was all right, and found him sound 
asleep, undisturbed by the storm. 


V 


The morning after the big storm Senorita Mar- 
celena rode along the winding path that led to the 
lonely little cabin of Madame Lisso. Playful breezes 
cooled and perfumed the woods of emerald green. 
Bees droned in the bright sunlight on flower decked 
hills, and fish darted in the dark shady bayous. It 
was a dreamy day in the Southland. 

Marcelena rode thoughtfully along, suddenly 
with her decision to visit the old witch, the joy went 
out of the morning. Sabine with her bright grate¬ 
ful smile wouldn’t be there—she never would be 
there again—in the old way. 

"Oh,” she thought. "How I dread this!” 

Then she was stricken with shame. Poor, lonely, 
old Granny Lisso! How much worse this had been 
for her! How often had she mended their little 
dresses—doctored their cuts and bruises. That lonely 
cabin and hills and woods—without Sabine. But, 
why had Sabine been so weak? Why let them 
frighten her into doing such a thing! If she had 
only been a little brave—fought back, or died— 
YES, a thousand times! But what could anybody 


63 


64 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


do now? She was married to him, bound by her 
own vows made in the Holy Catholic Church. Sa¬ 
bine—was a fool! 

Her thoughts became more depressing. Dreading 
the sight of the familiar little cabin where she had 
spent so many bright hours, she allowed her horse 
to take his time. Sabine, lovely, elfin, seemed to 
flit along by her side. 

"How I miss her,” she thought. Tears filled her 
eyes and glittered on their dark lashes. "Married 
to a loathsome Indian, a half-breed! And poor 
Guydo, roaming the woods, miserable as the day is 
long. Well, well, what’s the matter, old horse? 
What are you trembling for?” 

Her horse had stopped stone still. She could feel 
him quiver beneath her. Puzzled and wondering, 
she looked for the cause. A soft rustle in the 
branches of a tree at the left of the road and she saw 
it crouched low on a limb, with yellow eyes gleam¬ 
ing. Blackness wipped across her vision. She heard 
the shrill scream of the animal mingle with a deaf¬ 
ening roar that rent the air. 

An eternity passed. She opened her eyes. A 
great yellow panther lay bleeding in the path ahead. 
She tried to raise her hand to hide the sight from 
her eyes, but her cold, trembling hands were held 
in a strong warm clasp. Her gaze widened to be¬ 
hold a pair of dark eyes that looked straight into 
hers, with the most appealing anxiety. She was 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


65 


leaning on the broad shoulder of the mysterious 
Senor Bon Villon. His arm was around her, hold¬ 
ing her tenderly. She raised the black lashes from 
her pale cheeks. Again their glances met and clung. 
A strange, revealing moment passed in throbbing 
silence. 

Marcelena found herself sitting straight, talking, 
but of what she scarcely knew. Senor Bon Villon 
stood back now, his arms folded, and his dark hand¬ 
some face that for a moment looked into hers with 
such tenderness again assumed its usual stern ex¬ 
pression. 

"Oh, what a coward I am! All my life I have 
imagined how I should act if this should happen— 
and what did I do? Sat paralyzed.” 

Bon Villon watched her. He knew she was try¬ 
ing to get control of her awful fright by sheer force 
of will. 

"There was nothing you could have done. Your 
horse stopped dead in his tracks.” 

Smiling, he caught the bridle reins and turned 
her horse’s head in the opposite direction, thinking 
to get her frightened eyes away from the fearful, 
twitching beast. His dark eyes went searchingly 
over her face. 

"You are still frightened. I am sorry you have 
had this terrible experience, Senorita. I came into 
this path at the crossing back there. I saw you 
riding along slowly and I thought to pass on unno- 


66 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


ticed when I observed the strange action of your 
horse. The next few minutes were exciting!” 

She shivered, but the color was ebbing back to 
her pale cheeks. She felt she must say something 
quickly, must let him know that she felt grateful. 
She turned to him in all her appealing sweetness. 
Tears rushed to her eyes as she raised them to him. 

"Let me thank you—but how can I, ever? God 
only could have helped me if you had not, Senor 
Bon Villon.” 

"No thanks are needed, Senorita Sepulvedor.” 

He flashed her a glance of mischief at the look 
of astonishment that leaped into her eyes. 

"I see you often as I pass your home on the San 
Miguel Bayou.” 

The idea that he had seen her and had all the 
while known who she was utterly confused Mar- 
celena. She felt somehow incredibly ruffled at his 
amused look. She sent him a dark, burning look 
from under her wide brimmed hat. He saw at once 
that she was not overly pleased with him and has¬ 
tened to explain. 

"Perdoneme, senorita, but hearing that the Se¬ 
pulvedor family living on the Bayou San Miguel 
were Spaniards from my own home city of Madrid 
I naturally became curious and was on the lookout 
whenever I happened to be passing. Then one day 
I saw you—” 

He left the sentence unfinished, watching her 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


67 


with serious intentness for a moment. Then he 
continued as he swept back his black hair to put on 
the wide Spanish hat he had been holding in his 
hand: "also our old friend, Madame Lisso, tells me 
about you. She is very fond of you, senorita.” 

Catching up her reins, she looked up at him, a 
smile on her lovely mouth, her hair clinging in 
smoky ringlets around her impertinent face. 

"I was on my way to see dear, lonely old granny. 
Now I have no heart to go on with my visit. Per¬ 
haps some other day I shall have better luck,—but, 
no, I shall never be luckier than I was today. My 
everlasting thanks to you, Senor Bon Villon.” 

Her last words were spoken with deep feeling 
as she glanced up at the swaying leaves where death 
had lain in wait for her. She gave a little shudder¬ 
ing sigh as her dark eyes passed to the treacherous 
beast lying with bared teeth, now stiffening in 
death. Very slowly she drew her gaze from the 
scene, every detail of which was burned in her mem¬ 
ory for all time to come. She turned to find Senor 
Bon Villon mounted on his fine black horse, his in¬ 
tention to ride with her quite evident. This brought 
her back to realities quickly enough. Her thoughts 
raced madly. What would she do, what could she 
do? Surely she remembered Guydo’s treatment on 
the Bayou Scie road. Father would be furious to 
see her come riding home with the friend of the 


68 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


half-breed. He had saved her life this very morning 
but—her people at home! 

Bon Villon was quick to notice the change that 
came over her and the disturbed glances she darted 
at him as their horses walked side by side. His mind 
read her thoughts aright and he smiled to himself. 

"She is frantic with the fear that I will go all the 
way. She is thinking desperately. What a sweep 
of black lashes! Passionate eyes and soft red mouth!” 

A flame leaped to his eyes and a choking sweet¬ 
ness suffocated him. The appealing loveliness of 
her soft form was like strong wine in his veins. 

"At last she has made up her mind to speak,” he 
thought as she raised her eyes, but she veiled them 
again when she saw the softened look he was bend¬ 
ing upon her. "I must not worry her longer.” 

"We shall soon be at my turning off place, seno- 
rita,” he said. "I shall not fear to leave you in the 
pines;—they have no low-hanging branches.” 

As he had expected, her reacton to his words was 
instantaneous. She turned on him the most ador¬ 
able, radiant look he had ever seen on a woman’s 
face, and he worshipped her for her inability to 
conceal her feelings. 

Now, relieved and happy, she talked and laughed, 
and dimpled with satisfaction if she caused a smile 
to light his serious face. 

"My,” she kept thinking to herself. "He may 
be a friend of the Indian; Guydo thinks so, father 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


69 


thinks so, but for my part, I—well, exduso decir que 
—I think the Indian shows admirable taste in the 
selection of his friends as well as in the selection of 
his wife. My brother is very smart usually but this 
time he is wrong. The handsome senor is not and 
never was a murderous robber. I’d wager my life 
he is just what he appears,—a dark-eyed, fascinating 
Caballero. There! Guydo Sepulvedor, a snap of 
my fingers for what you think. I think he is won¬ 
derful , superb!” 

Bon Villon halted a short distance from her home 
and she thanked him again and again for saving her 
from the claws of death on this glorious morn¬ 
ing. The tall pines whispered overhead as Spanish 
eyes looked into Spanish eyes, for Spanish blood is 
warm. He turned before disappearing from sight, 
and as he lifted his wide sombrero she heard faintly, 
"Buenos dias, senor it a” 

"Buenos dias, senor” 

The velvety darkness of that night hid a new 
light that glowed in the eyes of Senor Bon Villon 
as he sat and smoked on his little gallery in the Dol- 
lette Hills. 


VI. 


The town of Natchitoches, situated on the banks 
of the Red River and about four hundred miles 
north of New Orleans by water, was at this time 
the most Western town of note in Louisiana. The 
old fort and barricades stood thirty feet above the 
banks of the river on soil of stiff, muddy clay. 

About the time of the cession of the province to 
Spain, the settlers moved to the sandy bank of the 
river for convenience in landing and unloading. 
Near Natchitoches there were two lakes, one sixty 
and the other thirty miles in circumference; both 
almost surrounded by dark, dense swamps. High 
around the blue green water of these immense lakes, 
lacy heads of wild rice, willow trees and cat-tails 
waved in the soft breeze; starry faced pond lilies 
floated upon the surface in thousands affording a 
beautiful feasting place for geese, duck, brant, and 
swarms of lovely swans that came south in winter. 
In summer the Indians came here with bows and 
arrows and killed more fish than their ponies could 
carry. The low grounds around the lakes were rank 
with luxuriant grass where buffalo, wild cattle and 


70 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


71 


Indian ponies fed by day. By night other wilder 
animals slunk out of the swamps to drink from the 
clear lakes. Here man and beast were equally privi¬ 
leged to roam. 

No wilder spot between the Atlantic and Pacific 
could be found than this Louisiana Valley of the 
Red River. The lazy alligator was at home in these 
swampy ponds. The rusty moccasin lay in the sun, 
ready to glide into the water at the least danger. 
Turtles of all kinds and sizes sunned themselves on 
fallen logs and cypress knees. Long Spanish moss 
hung straight from trees in the still, heavy atmos¬ 
phere. A fugitive from justice could hide for years 
in Louisiana’s swamps and be as one dead to the 
outside world. 

On this summer morning in Natchitoches, rain 
was pelting down in sheets. Along the cloudy hori¬ 
zon gleamed a faint, gray light of approaching 
dawn, while the shrill crowing of Spanish cocks an¬ 
nounced the hour to the inhabitants. Lights shone 
from only a few of the houses. The streets were 
dark and miry with red mud. Moored on the river 
were a few pirogues and dug-outs and one large 
flat boat. 

In the gray light and pouring rain the river was 
only a wide white mist. Through this mist a pirogue, 
rowed by two Indians, glided swiftly up to the 
landing. One of them sprang out to make an¬ 
chorage. He was followed quickly by a small white 


72 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


man, the lone passenger, who handed the boatman 
a few coins and without delay began ascending the 
steep, slippery incline of the river bank, while the 
Indian boatmen glided noiselessly back down the 
stream. 

The passenger of the pirogue, reaching the top 
of the bank, walked along the muddy street. He 
peered through the rain and stopped often to lis¬ 
ten as if expecting some one. He kicked at a cur 
that followed him and swore vilely. At a corner 
he stopped and waited some time before the splash¬ 
ing of a horse’s feet in the mud attracted his atten¬ 
tion. He was at once alert, straining to catch the 
direction of the sound. 

Down the street a shadowy form was approach¬ 
ing on horseback, leading another horse by the 
bridle. The man from the pirogue stepped out 
where he could be seen by the rider. The newcomer 
halted and the two men conversed a few moments 
in whispered Spanish. Then the man from the 
river mounted the extra horse and they rode out 
of town at a fast gait in the direction of the Bayou 
Scie settlement. They travelled the main road and 
had gone several miles before day broke in clear 
light and disclosed their faces. The man from the 
boat who seemed the younger of the two, was 
dressed in priestly garb. His sallow face was smooth 
shaven, with heavy lidded, lusterless eyes that were 
in no wise enhanced by the thin cruel lips of his 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


73 


singularly womanish and repulsive mouth. Slender 
and of slightly less than medium height he sat his 
saddle with an arrogant air. As they rode he ad¬ 
dressed, always in Spanish, his companion in a 
smooth drawling voice. One white, much be-ringed 
hand rested on his saddle pommel, while his right leg 
hanging twisted from knee to stirrup, indicated that 
he was crippled. His companion was altogether dif¬ 
ferent in appearance. He was large and burly and 
dressed in the style of the early settlers. His manner 
toward the smaller man seemed servile and a little 
fearful. 

As the day advanced and they rode into the edge 
of the swamp the priest glanced around uneasily. 
The dark woods were not particularly inviting after 
the all-night rain, and as the road gradually de¬ 
scended the trees and vines seemed to this stranger 
in Louisiana to crowd up closer to the road, im¬ 
prisoning them in the dark mouth of the hungry 
swamp. 

Again the priest looked with uneasiness through 
the dark way ahead. When he spoke, his voice 
was smooth and oily, his words cloaked in the 
language of the Church. This practice he had 
not put aside after Roman Catholic Church ex¬ 
communicated him; nor had his eviction kept 
him from using his priestly knowledge as a 
cloak for his crimes. Bellaco, his servant-com¬ 
panion, was fairly well educated but had grown up 


74 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


under the hypnotic influence of the priest. He had 
been the cat’s-paw in so many and so various dark 
undertakings that now his soul was not his own. 
Strange to say, he believed in the priest to such an 
extent that the crimes he committed for him were 
not crimes, so long as Father Cingaro, afterwards, 
gave him remission for the things he did. 

"I trust, Bellaco, that you are familiar with this 
road. I accompany you in spite of warning that 
this country is unsafe.” 

"My Lord Se—” 

"Hush, fool! Call me father,” he said quickly, 
scowling and looking around. 

"Father Cingaro,” Bellaco continued humbly. "If 
I did not know you to be fearless I would think you 
afraid of the woods. We’ll be all right now. The 
clouds have cleared and the rain is over for awhile.” 

"I should hope so. I have had a most miserable 
time in this wet hole they call Louisiana. I like 
New Orleans; but this —es terrible. I shall finish 
this long delayed job and return with my fair 
Amanda to beloved Spain.” 

At the mention of the name Amanda, the priest 
watched the face of Bellaco closely and was grati¬ 
fied to see the horror that instantly overspread it. 
Bellaco knew the fair Amanda all too well. Fair 
she was with the beauty of a poisoned orchid, the 
grace of a coiling serpent. Her one definite feeling 
was a fierce passion for this evil-eyed, womanly 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


75 


priest. She used her great beauty solely for his evil 
uses and did for him things that he dared not do 
himself. Her trail was a slimy trail of the poison¬ 
er, and Bellaco feared the red smile of her fair face 
more than a thousand devils. He did not question 
the priest concerning her whereabouts. 

"By the fiends, Bellaco,” continued the smooth 
voice. "You are a shrewd fellow. I must confess 
your letter was a wonderful surprise to me.” 

"I am glad I pleased you, father.” 

"Indeed you pleased me, my good Bellaco. Now, 
for your faithful service in seeing to the further¬ 
ance of my plans, I grant you indulgence and re¬ 
mission for the sins you have committed for your¬ 
self, and those you are soon to commit for me. I 
shall not condemn you to severe punishment as Paul 
did the Corinthian that his soul might be saved. 
No long fasts, abstinences and other mortifications 
of the flesh for you, dear Bellaco, while you follow 
my commands. Bear forever in mind that such 
happenings as pertain to me are my secrets, not 
yours. Always keep your tongue silent or I shall 
be as relentless to you as to a heretic. Now to the 
matter in hand.” 

Here his voice dropped lower and he again 
scanned the underbrush, and turning in his saddle, 
looked back as though a silent rider might be skulk¬ 
ing, listening, at their very heels. There was a quick 


76 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


subtle increase of interest in the oily tones as he 
continued. 

"Is it true, as you said in your letter, that Senor 
Bon Villon is living here in Louisiana and that you, 
good Bellaco, have tracked him to this very settle¬ 
ment after two long years of searching? Ha! You 
are a clever sleuth and your letter made my heart 
leap with joy. I have waited for this since the day 
the young devil escaped me after he had cut his 
way through the palace at Madrid. With him that 
day there was a renegade who helped him to escape. 
Do you remember? Ah, his face comes to me now, 
half-Indian it seemed. Have you heard anything 
of him in America?” 

"He was a half-breed Indian as we supposed. He 
is living only a short way from Senor Bon Villon in 
the Dolette Hills.” 

"So—” the soft voice of the priest hissed. "We 
shall deal violently with him if he interferes—but 
the chances are he will not. We are to be cautious, 
pronto, all through—before this half-breed shall 
know we have come. Bon Villon, proud devil, shall 
have no chance again to cut his way out with a 
sword.” 

"He has the arm of a devil,” interrupted Bellaco 
scowling. "I am glad I found him before he found 
you, father.” 

"Yes, he was a pupil of Napoleon’s Master at 
Arms, and became so proficient with the sword that 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


77 


he even rivalled his teacher, who was none other 
than the renowned and unconquerable Jean Lewis, 
famed for killing ten fencing masters of an Italian 
regiment without having been wounded. These 
duels were fought by covenant of the Emperor him¬ 
self. So you see,” purred on the soft voice, "'there 
must be no vacilacion when the chance comes. You 
speak of him as Senor Bon Villon. Does he not use 
his whole name?” 

"No, father, he uses only the Bon Villon. He 
lives alone with one negro servant and on account 
of his association with the Indian, Ocase Mataha, 
has acquired a bad reputation. Many believe that 
he is responsible for the unsafeness of these wild 
roads.” 

"Ah, good Bellaco, these wild roads will be safe 
from him soon—soon.” 

The dull, snaky eyes opened wide for an instant. 
Venom darted from them in angry anticipation of 
the strike, and they then became dull and lusterless. 

"Many of the settlers think him the brains of a 
robber gang made up of thieving, murderous Mex¬ 
icans and Indians. They have grown to be a terror 
to travellers, and the leaders in Sabine Parish have 
appealed to the Governor to destroy them.” 

The priest glanced about uneasily, then chuckled 
into a purring laugh. 

"Our fine caballero a robber! Es terrible —.” 

"But there is no truth to that report father.” 


78 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


‘Tool, think you I do not know? But you make 
my soul sing for joy. This is truly the chance I have 
awaited so long. I mean to finish him this time and 
I shall. My reward is near, I feel it. He is the last 
of his family and when I am rid of him—” He 
chuckled delightedly. “At his own expense I shall 
say masses for his soul’s comfort. And on you, my 
faithful son, I shall shower gold and preferment. 
You shall dip your fingers into his vast fortune also, 
and with Amanda, qiierida ,—but where are you 
leading me? It is already late in the day and still 
we ride.” 

“I am taking you to Jose’s cabin. Jose is the man 
I have hired to help us.” 

"Dios! Bellaco. Keep this fact before you and 
never forget it. You are the leader and I but ac¬ 
company you. Be ever careful about saying us or 
you will be begging me to get your soul out of ever¬ 
lasting purgatory. Where does this Jose live?” 

“In a swamp thirty miles from here. It will be 
night when we get there. Jose is a Kentuckian and 
came to these parts to keep his neck out of a hemp 
neck-tie.” 

“Ha! Bellaco, your humor is enlightening.” 

The look that the priest turned on his unsuspect¬ 
ing servant was contemptuous, and it was very well 
that Bellaco was unable to read the thoughts behind 
the pale, womanish face, or Cingaro would have 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


79 


lost his hypnotized obedient tool to the dark safety 
of the swamp. 

"Father, do you know Senor Antonio Cordero, 
Governor of the Province of Texas?” 

"Yes, I was called in to see him while he was ill 
in Spain, and administered a dose which relieved 
him of much suffering. If we need him I could re¬ 
mind him of the incident.” 

"I was just thinking, father, that if we fail to 
corner our man we might draw the Spanish author¬ 
ities to our aid by causing them to think him an in¬ 
triguer in Spanish affairs. Feeling is hot in this 
disputed territory and it would be easy to involve 
him in some way.” 

Cingaro thought this over a moment. 

"I think we will not need Cordero’s militia and 
Indians, my son. They are stationed at the Trinity 
River, so I heard in New Orleans, and are re-en¬ 
forced by Don Simon Herra of Monterey and his 
soldiers. The Louisianians are wide open to an in¬ 
vasion from the Sabine River to New Orleans. 
Baton Rouge is the only fortified place of any 
strength and even there what with the dissatisfac¬ 
tion of the settlers, the United States is unprotected. 
But we had better work alone. It is safest.” 

As the hours passed Cingaro’s soft purring con¬ 
versation ceased. The unholy light in his eyes be¬ 
came dull and lusterless in the damp heat of the 
swamp. They rode out into a lovely stretch of for- 


80 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


est, and for miles the most gorgeous scenery of Sa¬ 
bine Parish unfolded before them. For a while the 
giant, sweet-scented magnolias shaded their path 
only to stop abruptly and usher the riders into a 
stretch of long-leaf pines that murmured know¬ 
ingly above the two as they rode noiselessly on the 
soft needles below. The breeze made harps of all 
the leaves of the woods, but all this natural loveli¬ 
ness was lost on Cingaro and Bellaco as they plunged 
again into the swamp. 

Just as night was closing in Bellaco and the priest 
rode up the narrow path to Jose’s cabin. They 
found Jose at home in the low hut. With its 
earthen floor as hard as stone, it was a fit abode for 
Jose, a tall wiry villain, his Indian squaw, and the 
baby, wrapped in a blanket with only its black, 
beady eyes showing. 

As they entered the low door Bellaco spoke to 
Jose in English. 

"Glad to find you home, Jose. This gentleman is 
a priest, Father Cingaro, just arrived from Spain.” 

Jose looked the priest up and down, and Cingaro 
gazing into the dark, evil face of the Kentucky 
criminal thought with satisfaction, "Jose will do.” 

They sat on low hard stools around a fire which 
smouldered in the mud fireplace and gave barely 
enough light to illumine the three men, deep in 
subdued conversation, and the dirty squaw and 
baby on the hard dirt floor in a corner. Jose, long 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


81 


and loose of limb, shot out a big foot and kicked the 
smouldering fire into a bright blaze which lit up the 
dingy hovel. Cingaro’s snaky eyes slid over the 
few objects in the room and came back to meet 
the cold hard stare of Jose. Now in the bright light 
of the fire, he noticed the injured hand of his peli- 
groso host and glanced at Bellaco inquiringly. Jose 
saw the look and held out his hand, from which the 
fingers were missing, and the stumps only partially 
healed. Swearing murderous oaths of revenge Jose 
told how his fingers had been shot off from ambush 
as he had waited for Bon Villon to pass his hiding 
place. 

"By the fiends, Bellaco. Is this true? Diablo! 
hombre de! Has he, then, a charmed life?” 

The knowledge that once again his intended 
victim had miraculously escaped, filled Cingaro’s 
black soul with suppressed rage. Half veiled eyes 
glowed dull green in the sinister face. Bellaco had 
never explained this mysterious occurrence to his 
own satisfaction. Consequently he was flounder¬ 
ing and vague in trying to acquaint the priest with 
what really took place. And, though both he and 
Jose had a very definite idea that the Phantom 
Rifleman saved the life of Senor Bon Villon that 
afternoon in the Bayou Scie canebrake, they kept 
their own counsel. This diabolic power of the air 
was not to be mentioned, not even in whispers. 

Cingaro, tired and sore from his long ride from 


82 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Natchitoches, let the subject pass for the night and 
suggested that they get some rest. Sleeping on the 
hard ground, however, was not conducive to repose. 
The foul air of the hut was rent by yells from the 
Indian baby at intervals through the night, and so 
before the first light of day shone through the clay 
daubed walls, they got up, roused Jose and stepped 
out into the warm darkness of the swamp. With¬ 
out attempting to eat what the dirty squaw would 
offer them, they saddled their horses and rode away, 
accompanied by Jose. 

When they came to the trail which led to the 
Dolette Hills Bellaco halted to point out the direc¬ 
tion of Bon Villon’s home. While they stood talk¬ 
ing they were met by another of Bellaco’s hirelings, 
a red-faced bully who seemed to understand what 
was to be done. He addressed his conversation to 
Bellaco, as he had been hired by him at Spanish 
Town a few days before, and told to be here on this 
day. 

While they made their plans an old woman 
squatted hidden behind a bush, and listened intent¬ 
ly. Her hawk-like eyes were riveted on the four 
evil faces. As they rode out of sight, Madame Lisso 
got up very sprightly for an old woman and began 
to climb the ravine, mumbling all the while to her¬ 
self. 

"Ough! A plague on the devils. I heerd ’em er 
plannin’ uv they dirty work. Ain’t airy leetle toe 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


83 


uv ’em fitten to live on the yearth. Meanin’ to 
harm a good man that’s allers bin good to ole gran¬ 
ny, allers sa good to pore leetle Sabine. Devils! 
Wolves! How I hate thet furren, white one. Ouch! 
ole granny gwine warn you, honey.” 

Still mumbling, she hobbled on through the 
woods, with her Indian basket full of roots and 
herbs in one hand and a witch hazel stick in the 
other. 

Having mapped out their line of conduct the 
four conspirators separated before reaching Spanish 
Town. Cingaro and Bellaco continued their way 
to Smith’s Inn, while Jose and his companion rode 
back toward the swamp. As they rode along Cin¬ 
garo inquired all about the parish priests. Hearing 
their names were Father Sedallae and Father Pavie, 
he warned Bellaco that they must never under any 
circumstances meet these men. Bellaco wondered 
why Father Cingaro wished to avoid the other 
priests, but with simple faith left the question un¬ 
asked as they rode on to Spanish Town. 


VII. 


On this late summer morning Sabine stood gaz¬ 
ing from the little shuttered window of the cabin 
in the Dolette Hills. She presented the same emo¬ 
tionless expression she had worn since the first 
frenzied days of desperate rebellion against the ap¬ 
palling thing that had descended upon her. Trapped 
like a wild animal, a life-long captive to the savage 
whims of a crafty-eyed half-breed. This thought 
went distortedly through her mind, maddening and 
filling her days with passionate revolt. From a 
dazed, frightened child she became a horror-strick¬ 
en, sickened woman and the consciousness of her 
wretched plight burned deep into her soul. With 
set, desperate young eyes this exquisite child-woman 
began a fearful, unreal existence, with the feeling 
that it was not herself but some other cold, inani¬ 
mate thing that had possession of her body. 

Her wily husband, artful and cunning in this as 
in all his dealings, wisely left his golden-white wife 
to herself for a time, trusting that isolation from 
relatives and friends, and the humiliation of living 
under the cloud of his name, would cause her to 


84 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


85 


shun old associates and become reconciled to her life 
with him. He knew that through her religion his 
hold on her was secure for life. Had she not stood 
in frozen silence before a Catholic priest and sig¬ 
nified her willingness to share his life? And Sabine, 
casting a longing, lingering look behind, wondered 
in bitterness of heart that the aged, kindly, old 
father had not read in her white face that her seem¬ 
ing consent was only stark frozen terror. But he 
had not understood and the crime had been com¬ 
mitted. Time does not halt when the world stops 
for us, and the days swept on for Sabine, dark cen¬ 
turies, black aeons to be lived through with always 
tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. 

After a black night of storm with only the lonely 
sounds of the woods and her own bitter thoughts 
for company, Sabine stood at the window and 
watched the blood-red sun climb over the trees. It 
seemed to move straight out from the Bayou Scie 
near Granny’s cabin. She wondered incuriously if 
this were an omen, only to shrug despondent shoul¬ 
ders at the irony of the thought. Omen? What 
could an omen, good or bad, mean for her? Life, 
free, joyous life, for her was over. But eighteen is 
young, and the tall pines whispered knowingly in 
the breeze that brought a strange, new sound to 
her ears. 

She turned her head bird-like, listening. Yes, it 
was he. Quick, through the back door, to the 


86 The Witch of Bayou Pierre 

woods, and she was out like a flash, speeding across 
the little clearing to hide in the thick undergrowth 
at the rear of the cabin. Here she waited in rigid 
silence for the approach of her crafty lord. 

He rode in view down the shady little path, 
swaying drunkenly in his saddle. At every lurch 
he let forth a whoop that echoed and re-echoed in 
the hills, and filled the air with the wild, savage 
sounds. This was the morning after the big storm, 
when Ocase and Lebo had made their terrifying 
visit to the old witch. The draggled, drunken look 
of him as he reeled from his horse and staggered into 
the cabin was a revolting and sickening sight to the 
violet-eyed, watching girl. She heard him kick the 
table over with a crash of broken dishes, every 
breath a blood curdling war-whoop as he slashed 
and fell about the room, causing Sabine’s pet kitten 
to scurry to the yard for safety. This kept up for 
awhile, then gradually subsided. 

Sabine, venturing from her hiding place, crept to 
the little window and looked in at him. He was 
hunched in a chair with most of his fine buffalo 
robes flung about the floor. The interior of the 
cabin looked as though a violent ^storm had swept 
it. With a bottle of liquor in one hand and a gleam¬ 
ing knife in the other, he cut the air with vicious 
slashes, and muttered and swore in broken Spanish 
and English, with now and then a streak of Chick¬ 


asaw. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


87 


"Ough, whoopee! Have more squaws—many, 
heap big—hie! Ha, old Chief McGillery was a war¬ 
rior. He had—hie!—heap squaws. Ough—hie! 

-ough, damn it! Old Mack big warrior, led 

Telapauches to battle, come home, find heap squaws. 
White squaw spiritless. Have big black squaw— 
hie! ough!” 

With this and a big swig from his bottle he fell 
to the floor sodden, inert, where Sabine left him to 
luxuriate in his carrousal. 

Feeling that the day must be gotten through 
somehow, Sabine wandered off into the woods. A 
remnant of storm clouds from the night before lay 
scattered about the sky, and through these the sun 
streamed, casting a vivid light over the young girl 
as she climbed upon the trunk of a tree uprooted by 
the night’s storm, and seated herself in its branches. 
Birds darted about, singing deliriously in the green 
woods, and two round eyed squirrels scampered up 
and down the trunk of a giant hickory almost 
within her reach. Sabine’s blue eyes, however, were 
not on the playful squirrels or the gorgeous trillers 
of the forest. Her thoughts were turned inward, 
and thoughts thus directed too often turn bitter. 

The orioles suddenly became quiet, and the squir¬ 
rels ceasing their play, hid themselves in hurried 
retreat. Conscious of the sudden silence, Sabine 
looked about her, scarlet lips parted in wonder as 
she sat motionless in shocked surprise. A man, 



88 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


dressed in a soldier’s uniform and leading a horse 
by the bridle, was coming toward her, admiration 
gleaming in his eyes. Sabine sprang to her feet 
reaching the ground just as the man, smiling and 
debonnaire, a rifle slung from his shoulder and a 
sword by his side, arrived at her tree. 

The newcomer swept his hat from his head, re¬ 
vealing wavy chestnut hair that lay damp against 
his brow. Never had Sabine encountered such ar¬ 
dent eyes, such masculine beauty. 

"I beg your pardon, ManTselle. I hope I have 
not frightened you” he said with a strong French 
accent. "If ManTselle will kindly direct me on 
my way I shall feel greatly indebted to her.” 

To her annoyance Sabine felt her heart begin to 
beat with unwonted quickness. To avoid the man’s 
warm glances she veiled her eyes. 

"Where does monsieur wish to go?” 

"I am in the Dolette Hills in search of a desperate 
character, a half-breed Indian, who is terrorizing 
the trails with his gang of murderers. Might it be just 
possible that ManTselle has heard of this robber, this 
Ocase Mataha?” 

Sabine felt herself pale. Though she knew him 
to be what the soldier called him Ocase, was never¬ 
theless her husband and she could not betray him. 
And there he was in the cabin, blind drunk and 
helpless—For a moment panic threatened to over¬ 
whelm her, but the thought that the stranger could 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


89 


not know to whom he was talking strengthened her 
voice as she asked, "Ocase Mataha? And do you 
mean to capture him, monsieur?” 

"Mais oui , M am’selle, of course!” 

"But, monsieur, this Ocase is extremely danger¬ 
ous and would never submit to capture. I beg that 
you leave him alone.” 

Her earnestness and suddenly clasped hands did 
not escape the keen eyes of the soldier. Man-like, 
he attributed her concern to anxiety for his safety, 
and pleased, stepped closer, his eyes more ardent 
than ever. Busy with thoughts to outwit him and 
prevent the capture of her husband in his drunken 
helplessness, Sabine forgot her silent admiration of 
a moment before. Playing for time to marshall her 
scattered wits she bent her violet-blue eyes full upon 
the face of the man before her and asked archly, 
"How long has monsieur been a resident of this 
country? His accent tells me he is not a native 
American.” 

"I am a native Louisianian, ManTselle, a Creole. 
My home is in New Orleans though I have lived 
in Paris with my mother’s people,” he replied with 
a charming smile which showed, even white teeth. 

Through half-closed eyes he watched Sabine in¬ 
tently, for, beneath the gay, jaunty air of the 
Frenchman there had arisen an overwhelming 
curiosity and wonder as he observed the golden head 
turned in a half listening attitude. Her fair face 


90 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


seemed carved from cameo so perfect were its lines. 
A faint color came into her cheeks and gave them 
the delicate beauty of an azalea. 

"Mon Dieu!” he thought. "How lovely.” 

Her voice in his ears, low and hesitating, was like 
silver bells. She puzzled him by her rare contra¬ 
dictions; summer and winter, blue violets under 
ice, sunlight on a winter day, all these she seemed. 
She was not looking at him, but appeared to be 
listening intently as she spoke. 

"Is it desire for adventure that sends monsieur 
on this man-hunt today?” 

At the question the soldier cast aside the gay 
gentleman attitude and became serious. 

"I am Sergeant Karet Broussard, Mam’selle, under 
the command of Colonel Cushing now garrisoned 
at Natchitoches. It is by his order that I am on 
this man-hunt, as you call it. I was not hoping 
for the good fortune of capturing the Indian today, 
I but thought to locate him. His arrest will fol¬ 
low quickly as Colonel Cushing has ordered all the 
garrison to capture him before he has time to 
commit another outrage. Mon Dieu! No longer 
than yesterday this blood-thirsty villian and his 
wolf pack slaughtered a pack train. This country 
has been long suffering from such things and it 
will go hard with this Indian when we get him.” 

His words fell upon Sabine like the bite of whip 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


91 


lashes upon her face. She tried desperately to hide 
her humiliation as this clear-eyed stranger painted 
the revolting picture of this man whom she had 
married, and whom she at this very moment was 
protecting from the law. Her heart grew cold at 
the thought that she had become a partner to all 
that Ocase Mataha did. She felt herself a red- 
handed accomplice, and her slim childish figure 
shrank under the self-accusation. Her golden 
lashes fluttered over shamed desperate eyes. 

Sergeant Karet wondered at the lovely, frozen 
look of her. A strange protective feeling made him 
long to thaw that expression from her face and 
kindle a light in the deep blue of her tragic eyes. 

But Sabine was remembering that Ocase might 
any moment betray himself by a drunken whoop 
from the cabin just out of sight in the woods. She 
must send this officer on his way at once, for altho 
she loathed and hated the half-breed, she could not 
be the one to tie the rope about his neck. Looking 
up quickly she found the handsome Frenchman 
regarding her with such frank, interested kindness 
that her cold little heart contracted strangely, and 
the straps which bound her load of care loosened 
for a moment to leave the most delightful sense of 
freedom. 

She was surprised at her own voice saying in¬ 
differently, "Now, that you have mentioned your 
name, sergeant, I remember that I have heard you 


92 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


spoken of, and always as the wild and daring Karet. 
But with all respect for your daring, I advise you to 
leave this man for another time. It would be ex¬ 
tremely foolhardy, to say the least, to try to 
capture Ocase Mataha alone.” 

Brussard drew himself up proudly. 

"I am not frightened at your warning, ManTselle, 
but as you already know me, will you not please 
tell me who you are?” 

His expressive brown eyes had a pleading look 
that caused another contraction of her heart. She 
stole a quick glance at the graceful lines of his trim 
figure and handsome head as he leaned nonchalantly 
against the fallen tree. In an instant her old mock¬ 
ing self flashed out in her answer. 

"Let the mystery remain unsolved for the 
present, monsieur, since I am doomed to exposure 
in the near future. And as you refuse to be warned 
I shall point out the way for your destruction. Fol¬ 
low the path back the way you came and turn to 
the right at the Spanish Trail. But I shall not wish 
you luck, Monsieur Karet Brussard, and for today, 
Bon soir, Monsieur!” 

She inclined her head slightly, and turning, 
walked away into the woods in a direction opposite 
to that of the cabin where Ocase lay in a drunken 
stupor. With consternation the soldier realized she 
was taking flight without giving him the slightest 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


93 


clue to her identity. Impetuously he rushed after 
her. 

"Your pardon, ManTselle, but pray do not 
leave me without—” 

Sabine turned and flashed him a look that brought 
him sharply to the realization that this was no ordi¬ 
nary country maiden to be idly played with, but a 
woman of birth and breeding. Her glance seemed 
to put the high born Creole miles beneath her tiny 
moccasined feet. Her words stung him by their 
unexpectedness. 

"You are wasting your colonel’s time, Monsieur. 
Permit me to pass, my husband is waiting for me!” 

She stepped by him and walked proudly out of 
sight without a backward glance, leaving behind 
her a sophisticated young sergeant more disap¬ 
pointed and chagrined than he was willing to admit. 

"Husband! M on Dieu! Such beauty—all gold 
and white and blue, in these lonely woods. I should 
pinch myself to see if this is a dream. But, sapristi! 
A husband! I shall find out more about that, my 
alluring lady.” 

Gathering up his reins, he mounted his horse and 
rode off down the path which Sabine had pointed 
out. 

As she wandered in the woods Sabine smiled to 
herself over the evident discomfiture of the ser¬ 
geant. How non-plused he had been at her check 
to his advances, and yet—Something in his merry 


94 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


eyes and caressing voice stirred her strongly. He 
would be indignant when he learned his day’s ride 
was for nothing. 

Ocase would still be in his drunken stupor—any¬ 
way she did not care to return to the cabin. As she 
walked through the dim aisles of the forest gather¬ 
ing and eating berries, her mind dwelt upon her 
meeting with the sergeant; the way he had looked 
at her out of half-closed eyes, the quick way he 
smiled, his impertinence,—yes, he was so very sure 
of himself, but different from all the men she had 
known—very like Senor Bon Villon in style and 
manner, but much more fascinating. 

She stopped suddenly at the thought of Bon Vil¬ 
lon. Here before her was the little path, dim but 
certain, which led to the Spaniard’s cabin. Why 
not pay him a call? She would—it was still early, 
and Ocase would never know she was away, and if 
he did—what matter? 

As there was no hurry she took her time and again 
gave herself over to thoughts of the morning. Ocase 
—worse than she had ever seen him—and the soldier 
who had come to capture him. Her white fingers 
and mouth were purple with berries before she came 
to the little clearing about Bon Villon’s home. 

The Spaniard was seated on his shaded gallery 
reading La Moniteur de la Louisianne. He heard 
her steps, glanced up and threw aside his paper, 
going down the path to meet her. He had heard 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


95 


of the half-breed’s latest outrage on the day before 
and had planned to see about his little neighbor this 
morning. Then suddenly she was before him, look¬ 
ing like a runaway child with hat swinging down 
her back and face stained with berries. 

"Buenos dias , Senora Sabine” Gallantly he as¬ 
sisted her up the steps and to a chair. "I was lone¬ 
some with no one to talk to but Mulatto. You are 
God’s gift to the lonely, la nina” 

At the sound of his name, like Jack-in-the-box, 
the negro popped his wooly head out of the door. 

"Howdy, Miss Sabine,” he said grinning. 

"How are you, Mulatto,” she asked smilingly. 

"Jes’ sorter tolerable, Miss Sabine. I’se had er 
mis’ry in muh jints er week dis cornin’ Chuesday. 
Den on top er dat I tuk en got wet to de skin las’ 
night fo’ I cud giti dat bahn do’ shut, an dat make 
dis mis’ry considerable worsen Outside er dat I’se 
tolerable, thanky, Miss Sabine.” 

"I’m sorry about your rheumatism, Mulatto.” 

"Yassum hit makes me feel puny-like sho’ does.” 

"Go, see to my horse now, Mulatto. Let me know 
how his leg looks today.” 

"Yassuh yassuh, sho’.” 

Bon Villon turned to Sabine, looking at her spec¬ 
ulatively. He had learned to read her expression in 
the time he had known her, and could tell when 
she was more disheartened than usual, or when, 
having put aside her burden for the time she seemed 


96 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


her radiant happy self. Today, however, he was 
puzzled. There was a subtle look of thrilled ex¬ 
citement about her, an air foreign to her usual 
mood. He hesitated slightly before he spoke to her. 

"Everything as usual with you?” 

She meditated a moment before answering. 

"Yes, only a little more so, perhaps.” 

Her eyes as she glanced up at him held a subtle 
humor in their blue depths which suddenly made 
him think, "My little friend is growing up.” 

"You are coming out all right, Chicato” he said 
aloud. "I have read it in the stars for you. Hap¬ 
piness will yet be yours. Ocase is not a God to 
settle the destiny of your life. A way out will be 
found. I had it out with him awhile back at Fallen 
Springs but my hands are tied by a great obligation 
to him. He reminded me that he had befriended 
me once at my greatest need, and rendered me 
helpless to do anything positive.” 

"Why has he always befriended you, senor? There 
must be a reason for it. Why does Ocase have this 
kindly feeling for you that he holds for no other 
man who is honorable and respectable?” 

Surprised, Sabine saw the blood rush to his face. 
She had not guessed the question would be embar¬ 
rassing and could not know how obnoxious the 
thought of his obligation to the outlaw had become 
to him. Nor did she know that her friend, Guydo, 
had been the first to open Bon Villon’s eyes to the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


97 


way in which he was regarded by the settlers. Per¬ 
haps she would have gained a better insight into his 
feelings had she known of his subsequent meeting 
with another of the Sepulvedor family, a meeting 
which had filled his thoughts constantly and thrown 
a film of enchantment over the familiar old woods 
of the San Miguel. Sabine did not know her host 
had awakened to the opinions of the settlers only 
after he had looked into two ravishing gray eyes 
and felt a gleaming black head pressed on his shoul¬ 
der the day he had rescued Marcelena from the 
panther. 

Bon Villon shook his head and settled back in his 
chair with a sigh. 

"I have puzzled over this often and long myself, 
doncellita , and it is as much a mystery to me as it is 
to you. Ocase Mataha is a law unto himself and 
there is a deep undercurrent to all his motives. His 
friendship for me has a meaning and a plan which 
I cannot fathom but I resent the position in which 
I am placed as the friend and confederate of such 
a man. Where is he now?” 

"He is at home, senor, celebrating his last exploit. 
He always celebrates, you know.” 

"Es terrible . I tried to locate and talk to him 
again yesterday but I missed him. Did he tell you 
anything about it, Sabine,—the robbery?” 

"Oh, no, senor, I was gone when he reached home. 


98 The Witch of Bayou Pierre 

He was even worse than usual and I heard him in 
time to fly to the woods and—” 

She paused, wishing to tell him of her meeting 
with the handsome Frenchman, but hesitating as 
the meeting now seemed to her a treasured secret. 
She felt constrained to speak for Ocase was in im¬ 
mediate danger and she hoped the senor could in¬ 
fluence him to seek safety in permanent flight. Her 
reflective mood did not escape the keen eye of the 
senor and he looked past her smiling. 

“What’s on your mind You are keeping secrets 
from me, I believe.” 

“Well, I have been through a very trying time 
this morning, senor, while hiding in the woods. I 
must have been dreaming or half asleep for, before 
I was aware of the slightest sound, I glanced up to 
find a man standing only a few yards away holding 
his horse by the bridle. He seemed as astonished 
to find me as I was to see him. It was Sergeant 
Karet Brussard of Spanish Town. He informed me 
that he was looking for Chief Ocase whom he in¬ 
tended to capture and haul to justice.” 

Bon Villon jumped to his feet. 

“Sergeant Karet was that close to the house and 
Ocase there drunk!” 

“Yes, senor, but I told the sergeant the way to 
find his man and it was in the general direction of 
New Orleans.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


99 


A mischievous smile crinkled the corners of her 
eyes at the recollection. 

"I hope he reaches there safely!” 

Bon Villon walked up and down the gallery in 
trepidation. Ocase was not all bad. He’d hate to 
see him hung. 

"If Ocase has that dare-devil Karet on his trail 
he had better skip. At Spanish Town they say that 
Karet has no conception of fear, that he would as 
soon go after a man alone as with a regiment at his 
back. I must see Ocase and try to get him out of 
Louisiana for a while.” 

"I came to you,” said Sabine, "to ask what I had 
better do.” 

"Ocase must go away. It will be good for all of 
us to have him out of Louisiana and then you might 
go back and live with your gran’mere—but he will 
never give you up, I’m afraid. Why don’t you 
leave him? I will help you get to a place he could 
never find.” 

For an instant she hesitated. The thought of 
freedom at any price was sweet but she shook her 
golden head. 

"I promised before a holy father to live with 
Ocase until death. I could not give up my religion 
and hope of heaven even to be free in this world. 
I shall keep my promise, senor.” 

Looking into her resolute eyes Bon Villon knew 


100 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


she would do as she said. He was mystified at the 
ways of women. 

Sabine rose from her chair. 

"Won’t you come with me to see Ocase and warn 
him of his danger?” 

Bon Villon motioned her back to her seat. 

"Sientase, amiga, Mulatto serves coffee soon and 
then I will walk home with you. This state of af¬ 
fairs cannot go on indefinitely and I shall tell Ocase 
so.” 

After Mulatto had served coffee, Bon Villon and 
Sabine walked back through the woods to her home. 
When they entered the cabin they found the Indian 
still sodden and senseless on the floor. The Spaniard 
examined him closely. 

"He will sleep like this for many hours yet. It 
will be morning before his brain will be clear enough 
to understand the seriousness of his position.” 

"But the soldiers may return tomorrow!” ob¬ 
jected Sabine. 

"Hardly” replied Bon Villon. "You might tell 
him what you have learned about the soldiers when 
he sobers. I must go on to Spanish Town tonight. 
While there I’ll see what I can learn of the plans 
of the military.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


101 


With a few words of farewell the Spaniard re¬ 
luctantly took his departure, leaving the wistful¬ 
eyed child-woman to battle alone with fate, the 
odds against her. 


VIII. 


The next morning, when she awakened, Sabine 
found Ocase Mataha seated in the doorway of the 
cabin cooling his swoolen, swarthy face in the early 
morning breeze. Ignoring his presence she went 
about preparing breakfast. When the coffee was 
made she carried him a thick black cup of it, then 
continued her work, seemingly unconscious of his 
glum silence or the occasional glances he sent her. 
Beneath her calm she was nervously wondering how 
much longer he would enjoy the game of cat and 
mouse played with her since she had been brought 
to his cabin. 

Could she have read his thoughts her mind would 
have been greatly relieved for Ocase was not think¬ 
ing of her this morning. He was concerned only 
with the fate of a rich pack train, captured on the 
seventeenth, which he had permitted his gang to 
dispose of—a greater degree of trust than was ever 
before reposed in them, for the Indian knew the 
treacherousness of each of his followers, and would 
not be at rest until the treasure was safely deposited 
with the remainder of his stolen wealth in his own 


102 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


103 


secret hiding place. The uncanny seventeenth which 
for months past had claimed the death of one of his 
gang by an unknown rifleman, filled him with dark 
superstitious thoughts causing a chill to tremble 
down his spine. Even here where the bright morn¬ 
ing sun flooded yard and cabin, he looked stiffly 
about as though the very air and woods were in 
league with this enemy. His thoughts dwelt anx¬ 
iously on the fact that this steady murdering of 
man after man was demoralizing his gang and, if 
continued, would break up his organization. 

Swearing a vile oath, he rose stiffly and stepped 
into the yard. At the well he drew a bucket of 
water, and disdaining the gourd, tilted the bucket 
and drank from it, the wasting water splashing on 
the ground and his moccasined feet. 

After satisfying his thirst the Indian came back 
to the cabin door. Taking down a huge horn which 
hung from a nail in the side of the house, walked 
to the railed-in horse lot and blew a blast which 
echoed for miles in the Dolette Hills. Then he 
leaned against the fence and waited. Soon the sound 
of baying dogs came to his ears and he knew that his 
henchman, Joe, whose hut was only a few miles 
away among the hills, was on the way over. In a 
short time he rode into the clearing upon a sorrel 
pony, a handsome little animal with red mane and 
tail. He was followed by a pack of bloodhounds, 
the property of Ocase as was also the horse. Joe’s 


104 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


great height and size dwarfed the little pony and 
made both man and beast appear ridiculous, as Joe’s 
huge feet almost touched the ground. At the lot 
gate he stepped from his horse and lifted the wire 
fastening, the lean hounds slipping over the high 
rail fence to fawn at the feet of Ocase. The Indian 
paid no attention to the dogs but eyed the giant 
Joe as he turned the little horse into the lot and 
closed the gate, while the tail of his coonskin cap 
was swinging with every movement. Joe’s bulging 
muscles showed the strength of a bull, and the hard 
expression of his face denoted his utter lack of con¬ 
science. 

Ocase’s only recognition of his favorite was a 
grunt which might mean anything, but Joe seemed 
to understand. He was full of news and began talk¬ 
ing in a lowered voice. He told Ocase where they 
had concealed the packs from yesterday’s robbery. 

"Heard anything from Cushing and his soldiers?” 

"No, chief. Ain’t nothin’ in the wind. They 
ain’t made a move as I’ve heered of. Lebo, he ’lows 
as how they are layin’ low so as to ketch us out of 
the woods but I done clean forgot Colonel Cushing 
and his little soger-boys this mawnin’, got some real 
news for you.” 

Ocase turned a cold eye of inquiry on the giant. 

"The news is let loose that there’s goin’ to be a 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 105 

hoss race at Spanish Lake at one o’clock this eve¬ 
nin’!” 

The Indian’s eyes brightened a little and he lis¬ 
tened closely as Joe continued. 

"Yep! Cooney Chama has spread the news that 
he is trainin’ Bill Robeline’s roan hoss and some of 
the boys think he can’t be beat. He’s goin’ to run 
agin’ Jean Sevalya’s hoss and Jean has got backers 
with money and there’s shore to be a crowd, so I 
figger we can take Antoine and beat hell out of 
either of ’em as the race’s open to airy other hoss 
that will run agin’ those two.” 

Ocase’s beady eyes gleamed. He loved a horse 
race and had a score of long standing to settle with 
Cooney Chama, who had outwitted and made a 
laughing stock of him in a poker game at Smith’s 
Tavern. The Indian had waited patiently for a 
chance to make Cooney suffer for it. 

Joe looked in the direction of the little sorrel, 
Antoine. 

"O’course hits a little risky for us to mix in a 
crowd. I got wind there’s a posse of Sabine Parish 
led by Magee out looking for us, but I ’low we can 
fix up to fool ’em, as usual, eh, chief?” 

"Magee won’t bother me,” said Ocase knowingly. 
"He’s trying to get as many men as he can into what 
he calls the 'North Republicans.’ He is egged on 
by Bernado Gutirro, that dark stranger you see 
going around with him. Guitirro is a Republican 


106 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


leader and has been serving under Hidalgo. Since 
the fall of Hidalgo he has been skulking in the Parish 
of Sabine. Magee wants to get enough men to¬ 
gether to capture Texas from the Spaniards and is 
anxious to have me join him. He won’t trouble us.” 

Joe looked at him admiringly. 

"Hits a wildcat business. Figurin’ to jine ’em, 
chief?” 

"Ough, no! Fight my own battles.” 

"I didn’t ’low you aimed to, but you peers to 
know a heap ’bout Magee and his projecks. You 
can shore do a pow’ful lot of scoopin’ round not 
to seem you is, but I ’low you know what to jine 
and how to take keer of your skin dam’ all right.” 

This tribute pleased Ocase but his stoical ex¬ 
pression registered no change. 

After a little more talk, the two completed their 
plans and were speeding out of the Dolette Hills 
toward Spanish Lake. It was a long ride, conse¬ 
quently they made fast time in the morning in or¬ 
der to give the little horse, Antoine, a breathing 
spell before the race. 

Pony races, like all settlement sports, were usually 
gotten up on short notice, but they never failed to 
attract a large and colorful crowd. Spanish, French 
and Mexicans of all classes, each dressed according 
to his station,—the Caballero in sombrero and da 
vestir , the low Mexican with a red handkerchief 
about his head, a smattering of Louisiana planters 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


107 


with their grinning good natured niggers and many 
blanketed Indians, made a gathering which could 
not have been found outside of New Orleans. To¬ 
day there was an unusually large crowd. The sum¬ 
mer sun was pouring down regular dog-day heat. 
There were four judges, two at each end of the 
track. 

Joe Sohone was not known to be one of Ocase’s 
robber gang, therefore he circulated about freely 
without fear of detection. Ocase sat apart from the 
crowd under a tree and played poker. A large soft 
hat was pulled low over his eyes and a fake mous¬ 
tache covered his thin, cruel lips. 

As previously planned Joe made his way to where 
Cooney Chama was standing boosting his pony’s 
good points, and betting freely with all who came. 
He was a small wiry Frenchman with one eye, the 
absence of whose mate he sought to conceal by a 
black band worn around his head under his hat. He 
was one of the shrewdest traders and betting men in 
the settlement, and excelled at the game of poker. 
He was, therefore, usually well supplied with 
change. Joe had a few words with him, said he 
would like to look the roan over before betting. He 
strolled over to Jean Sevalya’s horse, and began to 
examine his fine points, picking up first one foot 
and then another as he pretended to study the 
animal. 


108 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"La, Jean!” he exclaimed suddenly. "Somebody’s 
been tampering with your hoss!” 

At this, Jean rushed up as Joe slipped a small 
knife up his sleeve. Joe pointed to the horse’s foot, 
looking straight at Jean. 

"Hits a shame! I noticed him jump and flinch 
as soon as I touched this foot and it looks like hits 
been done a good while. I’d shore whip the cuss 
what done it, damned if I wouldn’t, Jean.” 

Jean looked around, scowling and swearing, a 
villainous look on his sallow face. 

"Hell! I wish I could find who done this. I’d 
pull his damn eyes out!” 

"It quickly flew around the track that one of 
the horses had been jockeyed and the crowd at once 
rose up, angry and excited. They had come to see 
a pony race, and wanted to see one. Big Joe whis¬ 
pered to Jean that he could have his little sorrel to 
race and that he would bet a hundred dollars, and 
swore that Cooney’s horse would never touch the 
little sorrel’s heels. But Jean was furious and swore 
he would do nothing but look for the damn rascal 
that jockeyed his horse. Joe led Antoine out on 
the track and waved his cap and shouted to get the 
attention of the angry, milling crowd. 

"If Jean Sevalya’s hoss is out of the race I will bet 
this little hoss can beat Cooney Chama’s, or any¬ 
body else’s hoss that pleases to run agin’ him.” 

"I take you up on that!” yelled Cooney. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


109 


The crowd whooped and the betting began anew. 
Joe beckoned to Ocase who came forward from 
under the tree and mounted his pony. With Cooney 
on his horse the race was on. 

As the two ponies started Bon Villon, standing in 
the crowd, gave a surprised start. His quick eye 
pierced the disguise of Ocase. At the track was 
Sergeant Karet and a detachment of soldiers, and 
he knew if they suspected the racer, the Indian 
would be hard put to escape. Apprehensively the 
Spaniard glanced over to where the sergeant and 
his men were watching the race. 

These pony races were always exciting. The met¬ 
tlesome little animals knew what was expected of 
them and were off from the start. Bon Villon, 
despite his anxiety about the half-breed, cheered 
as the two ponies, neck and neck, reached the far side 
of the track, their hoofs beating a feverish tattoo. 
Around the track they sped with cries of encourage¬ 
ment from the onlookers. The little pony gradually 
eased ahead while Cooney’s horse slipped back until, 
with lightning strides, the sorrel took the lead and 
began to draw farther and farther away from his 
pursuer. 

Suddenly the crowd gave a groan. 

"Dios!” exclaimed Bon Villon as Ocase suddenly 
lurched in the saddle and fell. There was a breath¬ 
less silence, followed by a Chickasaw war-whoop 
as Ocase, clutching the horse’s mane, flung himself 


110 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


back upon his mount and, clinging flat on the 
pony’s back, crossed the mark with a thunder of 
hoofs. 

The spectators cheered the victor lustily. They 
had witnessed a race to their liking and were sports¬ 
men enough to appreciate the wonderful skill and 
horsemanship of the sorrel’s rider. All the applause 
went to Ocase, while little one-eyed Cooney rode in 
unnoticed to see big Joe Sohone gathering in the 
winning stakes. 

In the excitement of the race the false moustache 
had become disarranged in such a way as plainly to 
reveal its falsity. The Indian had lost his hat in 
his fall and had not recovered it. One or two men 
near Bon Villon began to whisper conjectures as to 
the identity of the horse and its rider. Near at 
hand the Spaniard saw that Karet and his men 
were in earnest conversation with a settler who kept 
pointing excitedly toward the Indian. Alarmed, 
Bon Villon began to push his way through the 
the crowd toward Ocase. The press, however, was 
so great that his progress was slow. In desperation 
he gave the best imitation of the Chickasaw war- 
whoop that he could. The half-breed looked 
toward him and catching his eye Bon Villon sig¬ 
nalled that there was danger. The Indian got the 
warning and, looking toward Cooney who was ap¬ 
proaching him angrily, he whispered to Joe. 

"There comes that fool, Cooney. Let’s ride!” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 111 

Leaping to their horses Joe and Ocase shook their 
reins just as Cooney seized Antoine by the bridle. 

"You needn’t be in sech a almighty hurry!” he 
cried. "Wait a minute. I ’low you’ve cheated me 
on this here race.” 

From the corner of his eye the Indian saw Karet 
and his soldiers edging toward him through the 
mob. Bending down until his mouth was close to 
Cooney’s ear he hissed, "Turn loose my bridle!” 

"I won’t, you damn cheat! I know who you are, 
you dirty Indian!” 

"Hold on, Cooney, hold on!” yelled one of the 
soldiers. 

The half-breed spoke to his horse. The animal 
plunged forward, dragging Cooney along but the 
game little Frenchman clung tighter. 

"Up with him, Joe! Quick!” yelled Ocase to 
his accomplice. 

The giant reached down and lifted the squeal¬ 
ing Cooney right into the lap of the half-breed. At 
command the two horses dashed off, followed by 
the yells of the crowd and the shots of Karet’s 
soldiers. 

"It’s the Indian,” called the sergeant. "Shoot him, 
kill him!” 

Every one rushed for his horse. 

As he galloped along, the Indian felt his rage 
against Cooney cooling. Each squirm and squeal 
from the little man soothed his revengeful nature 


112 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


more and more, but he realized he must get rid of 
him as the soldiers were now joining the pursuit 
and the already tired pony was staggering under the 
double load. 

"Ough, you eel! I’d like to choke you but I 
haven’t time now. You turned a trick on me at 
Spanish Town—I have repaid it. Go, and deal 
your cards better next time you play with the 
Indian.” 

Slowing his pony at a briar patch, the Indian 
dumped the yelling Cooney among the thorns and 
dashed on. Soon they reached Spanish Lake and 
plunging into it, swam their mounts across and 
disappeared in the wilderness beyond, just as Ser¬ 
geant Karet and his soldiers rode up to the water’s 
edge. The officer knew it would be useless to try 
to follow the pair through the swamp, so disap¬ 
pointed and angry, turned back, swearing to get 
the bandits, and to get them soon. 

Heading their horses in the direction of Spanish 
Town Ocase and Joe, riding more slowly now, 
picked their way to the outskirts of the town 
where they were joined by Lebo and Lebat. 


IX. 


Later in the day after the race at Spanish Lake, 
Bon Villon rode thoughtfully homeward. He had 
come as far as the Bayou San Miguel and stopped 
to get a cool drink from the shady pool. Desire 
and dread were pulling him two ways and he sat 
down in the green shade to think. 

He wanted to call on the Senorita Marcelena. He 
had passed and re-passed the little log house among 
the trees, but if the lovely Spanish maid saw him, 
she gave not the slightest sign. The weeks had 
dragged along without a glimpse of her and his 
hot Spanish blood did not relish waiting. He had 
resolved to go to her home many times only to 
pass on down the trail when the log house loomed 
before him. 

Bon Villon was very doubtful of a welcome in 
the home of the old don, for Guydo had been 
quite emphatic in his assertions in the canebrake 
on Bayou Scie, and if the father was equally as 
positive he needed no further assurance of a cold 
reception. Thus it had been with him, and still 


113 


114 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


was, as he sat by the shady bayou within a stone’s 
throw of her home. 

All around the woods were green, and dense 
vines were heavy with clusters of purple grapes 
over which the birds squabbled, casting occasional 
glances at the dark eyed stranger trespassing below. 
The banks of the little bayou were covered with 
heavy ferns; tall beeches towered overhead and 
waved their gaunt limbs in the breeze. Bon Villon 
inhaled the mixed fragrance of damp earth, the 
faint aroma of laurel, and the musky sweetness of 
magnolia berries scattered about in their burry 
husks. The gay little bayou sang low, softly blend¬ 
ing its silvery music with the notes of bees and 
birds. 

Bon Villon sat in deep thought, his gaze upon 
the cabin across the bayou. So absorbed was he 
that he failed to hear the light footsteps of a little 
half naked Indian who had glided noiselessly out of 
the woods and stood still, gazing wonderingly at the 
tall figure beneath the iron-wood tree. Feeling 
the curious gaze Bon Villon glanced up and started 
at being thus spied upon. His movement, in turn, 
surprised the little Yattessee. Amused, the Spaniard 
flashed a smile of gleaming white teeth at the young 
boy. 

"Que susto me elevado , you little devil?” he said, 
and leaning forward, he made a shocking face. 

Instead of scurrying away frightened into the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 115 

woods the little Indian bristled like a brave on the 
war-path. The Caballero threw back his head with 
a roar of laughter at the ludicrous appearance of the 
infuriated little figure. 

"Why, you—” 

His mirth quickly subsided into surprised silence 
for, unobserved until now, back of the little Yattes- 
see stood Senorita Marcelena, her peculiar gray eyes 
regarding him strangely from under the broad brim 
of her hat. 

Bon Villon was on his feet in an instant, bowing 
before her with a shamed look that she of all people 
had caught him playing the fool. 

ff Buenos tardes, Senorita Marcelena. I am de¬ 
lighted to see you today.” 

To be in her presence and speaking to her after 
weeks of eager longing for such a miracle, made his 
heart throb and his mind bewildered. Embarrassed 
at having seemed to spy upon him she swiftly 
lowered her eyes and a couleur de rose swept up 
from her throat and dyed her face even to the 
roots of her hair. With the sudden impulse of a 
child she held out her hand and the next instant 
they were smiling at each other. 

What must you think of me, Senior Bon 
Villon, to creep upon you in this manner?” she 
asked in her low husky voice. "I did not see you 


116 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


until too late and then I became interested in your 
scene with Little Frog. You make splendid faces, 
senor.” 

She was enjoying his embarrassment and the 
peculiar lights in the depths of her eyes went into 
hiding behind black fringed lashes. 

“Please—I have said that I am delighted and that 
the surprise of seeing you is ecstacy, have I not? At 
least, I have said it to myself many times since you 
appeared. I can scarcely believe my eyes even yet; 
I fear the San Miguel has played me a trick and en¬ 
chanted my senses. This is an ideal spot in which 
to rest awhile.” 

He was making a place for her to sit when she 
pointed to the fishing rods in the little Indian’s 
hands. 

“I have promised to fish down the bayou with 
Little Frog this afternon and the Indians do not 
tolerate broken promises.” 

Little Frog was watching her profoundly, his 
round, beady eyes snapping whenever they turned 
to Bon Villon. The Caballero calculated quickly; 
he must make his peace with the Yattessee if he was 
to get possession of Senorita Marcelena’s fishing rod 
and destroy the proposed outing. The Spaniard 
reached a hand into his pocket and brought forth 
a small gold knife. Bending to bring his face on a 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


117 


level with the small face of his enemy he spoke a 
few words in Yattessee. 

"Heap big Indian knife, me keep canes, you keep 
knife,” he said, flashing the gleaming object before 
the dark eyes. 

Little Frog looked from the shining blades to 
Senorita Marcelena. She understood the motive be¬ 
hind the trade and was flattered at the tribute, yet 
dared not encourage Little Frog to accept the bribe. 
Guydo and her father were in the log house across 
the bayou, so near she could glimpse it through the 
trees, and their attitude when she had told them of 
the incident of the panther flashed into her mind. 
When she had stressed Senor Bon Villon’s part in 
saving her life, Guydo had dryly remarked that any 
savage would have done as much, and the don was 
silent, through his wish not to hurt his idolized hi)a, 
but his kind, fiery old eyes agreed with Guydo. So 
with strange misgivings she watched as Little Frog 
surrendered the fishing rods ot the tall Caballero and 
received the knife. Nor were her misgivings eased 
when Bon Villon secured his sombrero from be¬ 
neath the ironwood tree and she found herself walk¬ 
ing by his side down the shady banks of the San 
Miguel. 

She looked resolutely ahead, her uncertainty 
manifested by her increased color and hesitant air. 
Bon Villon read the uneasiness in her eyes but talked 
on as if unconscious of any constraint in her man- 


118 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


ner. He wished to tear asunder this veil of mystery 
and suspicion the settlement had woven about him 
and to stand forth in his own true light. 

"This is a fine big hole of water and looks deep 
enough to shelter a whale. Shall we try it here, 
senorita?” 

"Ask Little Frog, senor. I always abide by what 
he thinks when it comes to fishing.” 

They turned to question the little Yattessee, but 
to Bon Villon’s amused surprise the tiny savage had 
vanished. 

"Your Indian is hiding under some bush close 
around, senorita, probably to see if his knife will 
cut,” said the Spaniard smiling at the desertion of 
their guardian. 

This slightly relieved Marcelena’s feelings as she 
had been quick to imagine he was already at her 
home telling the family where she was. She frowned 
and shook her head impatiently at the thought of 
being afraid of Guydo. This strange feeling was 
new to her. 

"What can they do to me? They can’t kill me,” 
she thought rebelliously. 

She seated herself on the green bank determined¬ 
ly, a come-what-will expression on her face. Bon 
Villon sprawled at her feet, the fishing rods and 
tackle lying forgotten where he had flung them. 
Marcelena’s little feet, gay in beaded moccasins, 
peeped from beneath the white dress she wore. She 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


119 


removed her wide hat to fan, as the air on the bayou 
had become breathless and close. 

Bon Villon turned on her eyes full of wonder that 
one could be so entrancingly lovely. The black, 
gleaming hair told of Spain and old Madrid, the 
creamy complexion of France, but when she turned 
on him her black lashed, chetoyant eyes, he thought 
of sapphire flames under cold gray water and knew 
they were God-given and the world held no more 
of their kind. Marcelena caught the fire of his 
glances and her topsy-turvy world righted itself. 
She knew now that Guydo’s wrath and suspicions, 
and her father’s silence had not quenched the fires 
which had blazed up in her heart that morning 
along the trail to Madam Lisso’s. As she sat with 
him she realized that her dreams of the past week 
did not compare with the emotion his magnetic 
presence aroused in her. She faced the truth hap¬ 
pily, her eyes embracing the lines of the tall figure, 
and confessed to herself that, come what might, 
the path to her heart was for him and for him alone. 

"I believe the senor is still dreaming,” she said 
at last in the sweet husky voice that thrilled him as 
he watched the changing lights in her eyes. 

"You are my dream, senorita, the most gorgeous, 
thrilling dream. You believe me, do you not?” 

His eyes had grown soft and daring, and his brown 
hand crept nearer hers. 


120 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"But I refuse to be a dream! Dreams never, 
never come true.” 

She threw him a mocking glance and moved 
farther away to rest against a huge magnolia. 

"What brings you by San Miguel today, senor?” 

"You!” 

"Oh! I thought perhaps you had been to the 
race at Spanish Lake.” 

"So I have, senorita. I stopped to get a drink at 
your pool, hoping for the millionth time to catch a 
glimpse of you, and for once fortune smiled on me.” 

She glowed inwardly at his words but treated 
them with outward indifference. 

"Did you go to the race really? Do tell me how 
it came out. Father and Guydo were to have gone, 
but they were expecting a call from the Governor 
in regard to the hunt for that Indian Oca—Oh, I 
—” She broke off, suddenly. 

Bon Villon realized at once that she had stopped 
in her sentence when she remembered his connec¬ 
tion with the half-breed. His face paled with 
humiliation that he was actually connected in her 
mind with the loathsome creature, but he could not 
explain things to her now. Nor could he hope to 
do so until the bandit chief was out of the country. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


121 


Pretending to ignore her confusion, he spoke en¬ 
tertainingly of the race and Ocase’s part in it, leav¬ 
ing out nothing but his act in warning the Indian 
of his danger. He knew, if he told her that, it 
would raise a greater question in her mind, one that 
he could not answer for the reason that it was yet 
a problem to him. Marcelena was interested and 
excited at the outcome of the race. 

"This Indian must be a wonderfully clever person 
always to be victorious,” she said, meeting the dark 
fire of his hurt eyes and saying to herself all the 
time, "It is not true; he is not mean or vicious or 
cold blooded; you may know some things better 
than I do, Guydo, my brother, but you are wrong 
about this; this man is—is mine if he wants to be.” 

Unfortunately Bon Villon could not read her 
thoughts and imagined she was silent because she 
was ashamed of being in the presence of a friend of 
the half-breed. "Dios!” he muttered aloud. Mar¬ 
celena jumped at the word and stared at him in 
such frank surprise that she threw him into a good 
humor, and the woods echoed to his ringing laugh¬ 
ter. She was so unutterably sweet sitting there and 
looking at him so strangely. He would tell her of 
Sabine and his interest in that unfortunate girl. 
Perhaps that would hold her confidence until he 
could explain his connection with Ocase. 

"You heard me whisper aloud. I was not pray¬ 
ing as you thought. On the contrary, I was think- 


122 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


mg of Ocase and what a world of sorrow he is 
causing. I have a great compassion for his wife, 
the lovely little Sabine.” 

"Oh, do tell me about her. Do you see her often? 
I have longed for and missed her so. Is she much 
changed by her terrible experience, senor?” 

"Changed—in appearance?” 

"Si, senor. She was very lovely, you know.” 

"She still is lovely,—all white and gold, so petite 
with her great, appealing blue eyes.” 

He spoke sincerely, his dark eyes looking far away 
as he recalled Sabine standing in the door of the 
little log cabin on the day before while her drunken 
husband lay in a stupor on the floor within. Mar- 
celena, listening and noting the absorbed look on 
his face, felt a stab of jealousy. She knew he cor¬ 
rectly described her dearest friend. Bon Villon 
was often in Sabine’s company, and men always 
loved Sabine— 

"Shall I tell Sabine you inquired about her? It 
would please her I’m sure,” he said, breaking into 
her thoughts. 

She raised her drooping eyes and caught the look 
of love and passion he was bending on her. His 
face so near, his dark eyes so ardent in their wor¬ 
ship, caused her to experience a feeling of shame 
that she had allowed herself to doubt him. She 
smiled slowly, her soft red lips parting to reveal the 
beautifully white and even teeth, while little dim- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


123 


pies played hide and seek at the corners of her 
mouth. 

"Please do,” she finally answered and, wishing to 
atone for her disloyal thoughts, she gave him mes¬ 
sages of love and hope to take to her lovely, unfor¬ 
tunate friend. 

The late afternoon sun poured down and the 
woods around the bayou were close and still. The 
birds had ceased their squabbling in the trees and 
the wild beauty of the San Miguel seemed breath¬ 
less, waiting. The very air with its heavy sweet 
odors breathed romance. The deep water of the 
bayou reflected the tall cat-tails and bull-rushes 
that stretched their colorful beauty along its edges; 
creamy pond lillies raised their stately loveliness 
from flat green leaves spread motionless on the still 
water. The peace and beauty and romance of the 
place seeped into their blood, bringing warm, lan¬ 
guorous emotion. 

"Do you still go about cheating hungry panthers 
of their breakfast, senor?” Marcelena asked, her 
husky southern voice breaking the dead silence that 
for several minutes had enveloped them in rap¬ 
turous contentment. 

"Fd like to. I| shall have to thank that old 
panther for the rest of my days. I could not blame 
him for wanting you, now could I?” 

His strong brown hand closed over her slender 
white one and his dark, burning eyes were close. 


124 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"Amo Vd, querida, amo Vd. I have loved you 
from that morning on the trail. I remember how 
you looked, all you said. You were so frightened, 
so adorably lovely. I have dreamed of you at night 
and all day in the shade of my little gallery. I can 
think of nothing but you. Tell me quickly that 
you do care: my heart is aching for you. Amo Vd, 
querida —” 

His tongue at last freed, Bon Villon poured out 
to her all the warm emotion that had surged through 
him since his first meeting with her. The stream 
at their feet was not more liquid sweet than the 
music of his rich voice; his tone was as warmly 
caressing as the faint breeze that swept her cheek. 
The pressure of his warm hand, the throb of his 
pulse, all seemed to blend into herself, to become 
part of her, and to bear her on into strange lands 
of romance. 

Whether he spoke or lapsed into meaningful 
silence was all the same, she desired nothing better 
than his presence. To him, it was all a miracle, as 
if his soul had become separate entities; the restless, 
tormented part which existed only for a fixed pur¬ 
pose, was undisturbed by this newer, happier sub¬ 
sistence so at peace with the world. He pondered 
over this, when the last adieux had been said, while 
he rode against a flaming sunset to Spanish Town. 


X. 


Thoroughly angered at the escape of Ocase, Ser¬ 
geant Karet rode thoughtfully toward Spanish 
Town. The Indian’s daring appearance at the race 
surprised him, but the public flaunting of him and 
his soldiers in a clear escape cut deep at his pride. He 
cursed his lack of luck roundly. Since the surrender 
of Spanish Town to the Americans under Captain 
Turner on the fifth of the preceding February, the 
settlement had been in a state of turmoil. The old 
Spanish inhabitants, still loyal to the Catholic King 
of Spain, were constantly being stirred up by Don 
Sebastien’s agents who declared that the Americans 
could not rightfully claim the district under the 
terms of the Louisiana Treaty and would be forced 
soon to return it to the Spanish ruler. To this tur¬ 
moil and uncertainty Ocase’s raids contributed no 
little. The Spanish sympathizers made much of his 
banditry and contrasted the unsettled state of the 
country under the United States rule with the 
peaceful regime of the Spanish authorities before the 
cession. Governor Claiborne was using every pos¬ 
sible means to conciliate public sentiment and to 


125 


126 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


restore law and order. If he could capture Ocase 
and break up his outlaw gang, Sergeant Karet felt 
he would do much to pacify the region and to bring 
about a stronger loyalty to the new United States 
government. Because so much depended upon the 
capture and punishment of the bandit, and because 
success had seemed so near only to disappear in thin 
air, Karet was particularly annoyed at the Indian’s 
escape. Swearing softly to himself he approached 
the fortress. 

Spanish Town was enclosed by a stockade of tall 
cypress posts sharpened at one end and planted 
firmly in the ground. Dismissing his squad of sol¬ 
diers within the fort, Karet left the military quar¬ 
ters and walked toward Smith’s Tavern. A glass 
or two of wine at the inn, the social center of the 
little town, would help restore his good humor. 

Smith’s Inn was a one story building, built of 
peeled pine poles spread out with a number of small 
rooms and sharp roofed additions jammed close to¬ 
gether, until the collection resembled a huge, mis¬ 
shapen chicken-coop. 

As he approached the inn Karet noticed two 
strangers enter the building just ahead of him. One, 
pale and slender, was clad in a priest’s hassock, and 
the other, a stout country fellow, seemed to be his 
servant. At this time and place, all strangers were 
objects of suspicion, so the officer followed them 
into the saloon, a large, smooth floored room in 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


127 


which were scattered about a number of chairs and 
tables for drinking and card playing. Karet scruti¬ 
nized the two men as they talked to Smith, the 
proprietor. When the two guests had disappeared 
through the hallway to a small room beyond, Karet 
walked over to the bar and remarked to Smith, 
"You have two new guests, I see. Who are they?” 

The bartender placed a bottle of wine and a glass 
before the sergeant. 

"Only Father Cingaro, from New Orleans, and 
his servant. Harmless, simple people both.” 

Karet drank and, remarking that the evening was 
yet new, decided he would visit Don Leon Sepul- 
vedor. He imagined that a few hours spent in the 
company of the charming Senorita Marcelena would 
banish the ill humor the events at the race had 
caused. Mounting his horse he rode toward the 
Bayou San Miguel. 

Sergeant Karet Broussard had become acquainted 
with the don and his family while hunting on the 
San Miguel soon after his assignment to the little 
fort, and visited the family often. He valued Don 
Leon’s friendship and appreciated the fact of his 
controlling influence among both Creoles and Span¬ 
iards. On his frequent visits Karet flirted openly 
with Marcelena who looked forward to and en¬ 
joyed the visits of the dashing young Frenchman 
without giving credence to his amorous protesta¬ 
tions. Amata and Guydo, usually present, looked on, 


128 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


amused at the sallies of the couple. Sometimes seri¬ 
ous minded Guydo would bring out his violin and 
from it coax strange, wild music that filled the deep 
woods with weird echoes. Then, suddenly, while 
all were silent under the witchery of his playing he 
would dash into a gay fantasio and the debonnaire 
sergeant would swing Marcelena in a wild, dashing 
fandango . Karet taught Marcelena many new steps 
which she learned with such ease and danced so 
gracefully that the worldly Frenchman was always 
reluctant to stop. 

Sergeant Karet was a Frenchman of the upper 
class by both birth and breeding. A slave to fashion 
he wore only clothes of the latest European make, 
high collars, triple cravats, long sleeves that hid his 
hands, and boots of polished leather. All eyes were 
attracted by his striking contrast to the rough set¬ 
tlers, he was a parti par excellence in the city, a curi¬ 
osity in the settlement. 

The sun had set and darkness was creeping over 
the path as Karet rode up to the Sepulvedor home. 
Guydo was seated on the gallery playing one of his 
sad, plaintive melodies, while Don Leon and his 
wife sat listening idly. On the doorstep Marcelena 
was teasing her pet kitten. 

"Pray do not let me stop the concert,” said the 
sergeant seating himself on the step beside Marce¬ 
lena after the exchange of greetings. "On with 
the music.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 129 

He waved to Guydo who gladly took up his bow 
and continued the sad, strange music. 

"Oh, Guydo,” cried Marcelena later in the eve¬ 
ning. "You drive me wild with that dirge. Can’t 
you see the sergeant is bored with your sad tunes? 
Come, play us a merry air, I am dying to dance. 
And you, sir,” she turned to Karet. "Maybe a dance 
with me will chase away the blue devils.” 

The Frenchman rose to his feet without further 
urging, and as Guydo obligingly swung into a dance 
melody, he and Marcelena began to dance upon the 
gallery. 

Sapristi!” exclaimed Karet as Marcelena moved 
through the figures with extraordinary grace. "I 
would like to see you in silk at a ball in New 
Orleans, senorita.” 

"Are the ladies charming, Monsieur Karet?” she 
asked, curious to know something of the world be¬ 
yond the settlement. 

"Very charming, but they would fade to insig¬ 
nificance were you there.” 

"Why do you say that, Monsieur Karet? Indeed, 
you are only laughing to yourself at the figure I 
should cut among your fine ladies.” 

"Dieu, no! Mam’selle, I swear it. You would be 
the fairest in the ball room and eclipse them all.” 

Marcelena’s strange, deep eyes were so entrancing 
in their demand for details that he went off into a 
gay description of life in New Orleans. 


130 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"Ah, senorita, I know what you would enjoy 
most—a masked ball at the Theatre D’Orleans. 
Dieu, they are magnificent.” 

"Oh, but I should love it,” Marcelena declared 
enthusiastically. 

"You would create a sensation. I can imagine 
the envious looks of the men when we dance the 
Spanish fandango. It would make the New Orleans 
ladies green with envy to see you wear the yellow 
shawl and black hat of Senora Amata.” 

Guydo continued to play and they moved on in 
the dance. 

"Indeed, senorita, even Paris does not excel the 
ladies of New Orleans in magnificence and polite¬ 
ness. If you doubt this you should attend the 
Theatre D’Orleans on first nights, see the beautiful 
and bewitching Calve in *Le Norma’ and 'La Fille 
du Regiment’ with the elite of New Orleans, the 
crowded hotels, noted men and women from all 
over this southland. M on Dieu! The beautiful ladies 
glittering in toilettes from ateliers of the great 
modistes, Olympe and Sophie, with their retinue of 
slaves and carriages. Indeed, senorita, it is to laugh 
at Paris.” 

Marcelena enjoyed Karet’s conversation. It 
sparkled with good humor, and revealed to her the 
gay life he had led, but her heart gave no extra 
beats for him. The eyes of another, dark and seri¬ 
ous, rose before her while she listened to the ser- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


131 


geant, eyes not so sparkling, perhaps, as those of the 
gay Frenchman, but eyes that held for her more 
fascination. 

After the dance Marcelena and Karet resumed 
their seats on the steps. She had heard how Chief 
Ocase had outwitted the sergeant at the race that 
afternoon and, without revealing the source of her 
information, began to tease him about his lack of 
success. For once the witty Karet had nothing to 
say. 

''Never mind, sergeant, perhaps some other night 
he will disguise himself and dine with you at Spanish 
Town to give you another chance at him,” she 
laughed. 

But the officer was not amused. His annoyed 
frown returned and, to Marcelena’s surprise, sud¬ 
denly remarking that it was late and time for him 
to go, he made his adieux to the family and bowed 
himself off, feeling that Marcelena was enjoying 
his disconfort, but liking her none the less for her 
keen sense of humor. 

On his way through the woods to the fort he al¬ 
lowed his thoughts to wander far into the Dollette 
Hills to a face that haunted him with its alluring 
beauty, drifting in and out of his dreams, mocking 
him in the dim starlight. 

"I am playing with fire,” he thought. "Well, let it 
be so—I live but once. ’Tis no fault of mine that 


132 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


she is the wife of another.” And he fell to wonder¬ 
ing who that husband could be. 

On arriving at Smith’s Tavern he found a big 
log fire and candles lighting the great saloon. Two 
pretty bar maids, Fellisse and Petra, were serving 
drinks to the men seated at the tables. Here, in one 
colorful gathering, were Americans, French and 
Spanish, each showing his nationality by his clothes 
and manners. 

Karet let his eyes wander over the room. 

At a table near the center of the saloon sat the 
priest Cingaro and his servant, both of whom he 
had seen earlier in the evening when they had first 
come to the inn. Near these two, but so placed as 
not to see them, was Senor Bon Villon in earnest 
conversation with a man whose back was toward 
Karet. 

This was no other than Ocase himself, and what 
the sergeant thought was earnest conversation was 
Bon Villon’s endeavor to arouse the Indian to the 
danger in thus exposing himself so publicly for the 
second time that day. 

*T’m happy, Cap. I dont give a damn for the 
sogers. They can’t catch me. I’ll slip through 
their fingers like an eel. Hell, do you think I’ll be 
forced to eat and run by any damned officers? 
Ough, look out for yourself.” 

He pulled his felt hat more closely over his 
malevolent eyes and continued to eat his dinner. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


133 


"'Then, for Gad’s sake, be careful,” cautioned 
Bon Villon, looking with disgust at the wolfish 
manners of the half-breed, who finished his meal, 
pushed his chair away from the table and leaned 
back against the wall as if preparing for a nap. 

"His guards are along,” thought Bon Villon, no¬ 
ticing Lebo and Joe who were lounging near the 
door, and Kenny, up at the bar. "I know he can 
at least count on their support.” 

At this moment he was swept with a wave of real 
apprehension as he saw Sergeant Karet enter the 
saloon, glance in his direction, then make his way 
to the Spaniard’s table within ten feet of which sat 
the man whose capture he wanted more than any¬ 
thing else on earth. 

"Ah, Senor Bon Villon, is it not?” asked the ser¬ 
geant, stopping at his chair. "I am Karet Broussard, 
senor, and I have been awaiting a chance to make 
your acquaintance.” 

"Monsieur Broussard,” replied Bon Villon in 
French as he rose. "I have often seen you and I am 
happy to meet you.” 

"Then come and join me, senor, at the savoury 
board.” 

"I have just finished dining, thank you, mon¬ 
sieur.” 

Bon Villon was glad to meet the genial French¬ 
man of whom he had heard so much, but he feared 


134 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


some scheme was afoot against Ocase and kept 
himself on guard. 

Karet took a seat at the table and remarked in 
his easy, social manner: "Then we will have some¬ 
thing to drink. Smith has some rare old wines. 
Dieu! A long ride is conducive to our appetites, eh, 
senor? This way, Smith,” he called as Smith came 
waddling between the tables. 

"Whew, who can that man be?” the Frenchman 
asked, pointing to Ocase whose vociferous snores 
rose loud and clear. "An aggravating sonata from 
the mouth and nose, Dieu!” 

He struck a comical pose as if struck by the 
musical performance, and Bon Villon could not 
hide a broad smile at the situation. 

"Now, Monsieur Smith,” continued Karet as 
Smith arranged the supper on the table. "Give us 
wine, and Smith, I entreat you to make it the ex¬ 
pressed juice from the vintage of France. It tops 
our ideas, yes, senor?” 

"Indeed, monsieur, there is nothing like it for 
creating new ideas and sociability. Its taste of the 
old country mellowed by age graciously soothes the 
palate and stimulates the mind.” 

"Oui, senor—and after this tribute to wine, con¬ 
fess, now, that you had a cellar filled with rare old 
stuff in Spain. Did you not, yes?” 

"I plead guilty, monsieur.” 

And from this they launched into tales of adven- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


135 


ture, each attempting to surpass what the other 
told. Their spirits rose under the influence of the 
wine. 

The priest Cingaro sat leaning forward. His 
whole attention centered on Bon Villon who, un¬ 
conscious of the evil snake-like gaze, continued to 
enjoy himself. 

"You have led me aright, Ballaco” the priest 
was saying in his soft, purring voice. "It is he. I 
know him, the handsome dog. Ah, you have your 
stilleto, Ballaco? By the prophets, if chance favors 
you, then good—but stay, alive if possible, remem¬ 
ber, alive until—I see our man Drake here. That is 
well. ,, 

"Smith!” called Karet. 

Smith hustled up, his small legs carrying his big 
stomach with difficulty through the crowd to the 
Frenchman’s table. Smith had to establish a center 
of gravity peculiar to himself to keep poised. 

"What can I do for you, Monsieur Karet?” he 
asked, his fat smile giving sanction before the re¬ 
quest was made. 

"May the Senor Bon Villon and myself dance, 
Friend Smith? Will you lend us your Fellisse and 
Petra for awhile?” 

The innkeeper rested the waiter upon his con¬ 
venient stomach and called to the barmaids. The 
sergeant had partaken of the wine more freely than 
Bon Villon but both were in high humor when the 


136 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


maids came up, rosy and smiling. Smith moved 
tables and got the music ready as Karet and Bon 
Villon prepared to dance. 

"Now, senor, choose your partner. I take Fellisse 
for mine, eh, petite Fellisse?” 

The Spaniard bowed gallantly before Petra, then 
followed Karet and Fellisse to the cleared space in 
the middle of the room. 

The music started. The talk died down and all in 
the room from the Reverend Father Cingaro to the 
two Mexicans, Lebo and Joe with their red hand¬ 
kerchiefs tied about their heads, forgot their drinks 
for a time to watch the graceful couples gliding 
through a dreamy waltz. They had circled the 
room a few times when the music of the violin and 
guitar quickened and the dance changed to a 
Spanish fandango. At the sound of the wild air 
Bon Villon’s stern, sedate manner deserted him en¬ 
tirely. Backward, forward, whirling, bending, the 
dance went on as he showered compliments upon 
the rosy barmaid. The priest sat pale and motion¬ 
less. The peculiar smile never left his face but the 
venom of a prodded rattler darted from his heavy 
lidded eyes whenever the handsome Bon Villon 
danced near. 

The dance finished, Bon Villon and Petra rested 
beside the bar while Karet and Fellisse passed the 
drinks. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


137 


"Ah, ma petite Fellisse, I was with a gay, petite 
fille today,” said the sergeant. 

"Name of misfortune, monsieur, was she better 
to look at than I?” asked Fellisse, red lips pouting. 

"She was very beautiful,” he replied in a teasing 
voice. 

"Who is this madamoiselle, this heart of desire, 
you find so beautiful? Tell me at once!” she 
pouted, tapping Karet’s cheek with a finger which 
he instantly caught and kissed. 

"Ah, non, non. Do not quarrel with me, sweet 
Fellissee.” 

"No sweet to me, ma pere. Dieu! And you flirt¬ 
ing with another girl.” She drew away from him 
with a saucy toss of her head. 

"Be not frantic, ma belle Fellisse. It was the 
Senorita Marcelena Sepulvedor, the San Miguel 
beauty.” 

Petra looked around in surprise as Bon Villon 
straightened up very suddenly, his flushed face 
going deadly white. 

"The Senorita Marcelena, indeed!” answered Fel¬ 
lisse. "Would you flirt with that haughty thing?” 

"But she is not haughty, ma petite Fellisse,” in¬ 
sisted Karet, his tongue thick from too much wine. 

"She is, too, the hateful thing. Can’t stoop to 
speak to me.” 

"I do not think—” began Karet but Bon Villon 
had stepped in front of him. 


138 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


'‘Stop! Not another word of this!” 

As Fellissee started to say something he silenced 
her with an angry flash from his black eyes. 

"What ails you, senor?” she asked, backing away 
from him bewildered. 

"Are you mad, Senor Bon Villon?” asked Karet, 
looking foolishly about. 

"Mad? Yes, I am surprised and furious to hear 
you mention the name of a lady in this place!” 

"I was speaking of the Senorita Marce-” 

"Hold! You cannot mention that name in this 
saloon.” 

"You are too arbitrary, senor, too commanding,” 
said the Frenchman with a shrug. "I mean noth¬ 
ing toward the senorita but respect.” 

"Is it respectful to make her the subject of con¬ 
versation in a bar-room?” 

Bon Villon’s tone was sharp. The sergeant’s face 
flushed. 

"Senor Bon Villon, your judgment has surely 
left you. This is my affair.” And he coolly waved 
the matter aside. 

"It is my affair—I shall make it so!” 

"Mon dieul Do you wish to insult me?” Karet 
flung back excitedly. "No Spanish spy can call me 
to account.” 

"Monsieur Karet, I am no spy. That is not my 
business in Louisiana. Apologize for that remark 
you damn Cajun or I’ll run you through.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


139 


"To hell with apologies, Senor Bon Villon. I 
know how to resent an insult. You have said 
enough—your Spanish blood needs cooling. Draw 
and we will settle this now.” 

Their anger began to sober them. 

"Clear a place here.” Karet called to one of his 
soldiers present. 

The man quickly moved chairs and tables to give 
a good fighting place. The guests, sensing the im¬ 
pending duel, pushed back their chairs and watched 
with interest. The noise awoke Ocase. He sat up 
his keen eyes measured the two combatants. The 
very tall, erect Spaniard and the Frenchman of 
medium height and compact build, stood facing 
each other. Bon Villon’s eyes were clear with de¬ 
cision. The sergeant’s emitted fire and resolution. 
The wine had fired the Spaniard’s blood but had 
steadied Karet’s impulsive nature. Both stood with 
unsheathed swords. 

Cingaro looked on with pleasure. 

"By Saint Peter, Bellaco, look! This is extraordi¬ 
nary, a miracle. I will offer thanks during a score 
of years if the Frenchman kills him. By Jago! They 
are boiling hot. Behold Satan, thy potent agency, 
wine. I invoke thee to spare him not.” 

"Be careful,” whispered Bellaco to the gloating 
priest who was forgetting himself in his exultant 
excitement. 


140 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


" Ah, handy Bellaco. I will do as you say and may 
the point of the Frenchman’s sword transfix him.” 

The ravole in the room died down. All eyes were 
watching the duellists in breathless silence. 

"Are you ready?” asked Karet. 

Bon Villon bowed. 

"We make the salute, senor, to show all courtesy 
to him you would kill. A vous Vhonneur” 

"Par obeissance ” replied Bon Villon. He made 
a courteous distance lunge and saluted. They made 
the parry, the carte, and then the reverse of le grand 
salut . 

"Fight now!” cried Karet, giving vent to the 
anger that swirled hotly in him. 

Their sword points touched and glided together 
with lightning swiftness, rasping from edge to edge 
as they crossed and recrossed, filling the room with 
their clangor. 

"Ah, senor, you have the candle light full in your 
face,” said the Frenchman cooly. 

"So I have,” replied his opponent equally as cooly. 

Their swords glided together again, the wicked, 
slendor blades whirling swift and bright as flashes 
of light. Karet had led the attack, but it soon 
dawned on him that here was a duellist such as he 
had never before encountered. With a beautiful, 
easy pressure of forte on foible, Bon Villon kept 
himself completely covered from the Frenchman’s 
lunges. Then suddenly he twisted Karet’s sword 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


141 


from him and sent it flying over the bar and among 
Smith’s bottles. The Spaniard lowered his sword. 

"I am fully satisfied, monsieur.” 

"Not I,” replied the sergeant, fired with renewed 
anger at being disarmed. 

His friend Stone handed him his sword and they 
again crossed weapons, the sergeant attacking 
furiously. But there was something new to him in 
the sword touch of this Spaniard; he found him¬ 
self steadily pressed backward and realized that he 
was no match for his opponent, who parried with 
ease every thrust he made and spared him the men¬ 
acing blade many times. He knew he would finally 
succomb to this master swordsman but he fought on 
more furiously than ever. Suddenly Bon Villon 
tripped and fell heavily to the floor, his head strik¬ 
ing the hard board. 

Karet drew back. 

"Strike, strike the dog!” cried Cingaro in a gut- 
teral whisper. 

But as the blade advanced it suddenly stopped. 
Karet could not thrust at a helpless foe. But, even 
as he stayed his hand, his wrist was seized and his 
sword clattered to the floor. The half-breed whose 
snoring had disturbed him earlier in the evening had 
disarmed him. 

"Fool!” cried the Frenchman. "I would not kill a 
senseless man!” 

Ocase gave him a keen, searching look and then 


142 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


lifted the Spaniard’s half conscious form to a sitting 
position. Karet came at once to his assistance. 

With a muttered "My thanks, m’sieu,” Ocase re¬ 
leased his friend to the sergeant. Then he straight¬ 
ened himself with all the dignity of an Indian, his 
steady black eyes looking at Bellaco. 

"You tripped the captain, you dirty dog, and I 
am going to wring your neck for it!” 

Surprised at the detection of his treachery, 
Bellaco sprang to his feet. He whipped out his 
pistol and fired, seemingly at Ocase but the bullet 
tore a hole in the floor close to Bon Villon’s head. 
He then bolted through the crowd and would have 
escaped easily had not Joe and Lebo seized him. 

"Tie him, Joe!” yelled Ocase. 

The bandit’s followers bound the struggling 
Bellaco with a stout cord and threw him on the 
floor. 

Senor Bon Villon had regained consciousness and 
was standing now, listening to Karet’s account of 
what had happened. As he finished the sergeant 
held out his hand. 

"I bear you no enmity, Senor Bon Villon, and I 
regret sincerely what I said. I was acting under the 
influence of wine, as you know, and I apologize. 
Cannot we still be friends?” 

The Spaniard grasped his hand. He wanted a 
friend, one just like this young Frenchman whom 
he knew was a man of refinement and honor. The 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


143 


gallant, impulsive Karet had interested him until 
the name of Marcelena was mentioned, and even 
now, thought he had forgiven Karet’s words and 
the duel, he felt a pang of jealousy when he thought 
of the unexpected friendship existing between the 
sergeant and Marcelena. Karet took him back to 
where Jose had tossed Bellaco, close to where a 
rascal named Drake was sitting. 

As they came near Karet said, "These fellows 
were trying to kill you, senor, just as hard as I was. 
M on Dieu, you must have a charmed life.” 

Pretending to try to get free Bellaco kicked over 
Drake’s chair and in the confusion that followed, 
Drake cut the cords that bound Bellaco’s wrists and 
put the knife in his hands. Getting up hastily Drake 
walked out, leaving Bellaco striking and whirling his 
body around as if still tied. Suddenly, to the sur¬ 
prise of the crowd, he jumped up and darted 
through the door after Drake. 

"Le diable! The rascal is escaping. Look!” cried 
Karet. 

Followed by the sergeant, Bon Villon dashed out 
of the door in pursuit. The two, aided by Ocase 
and his Mexicans, rushed futilely about in the dark. 
The conspirators had climbed the barricade and 
sought shelter in the dark woods where successful 
recapture was impossible. Karet and Bon Villon 
baffled and indignant returned to the inn. 

"What does this mean?” asked the soldier, voicing 


144 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


the Spaniard’s own thoughts. "Senor, you probably 
know this fellow who sought your life.” 

"I cannot be sure, monsieur. I can only suspect.” 

"Whom do you suspect, senor? I should like to 
help you.” 

"It is impossible to tell you, my friend, I am not 
sure enough to mention names.” 

"You are mysterious, senor. You surprise me.” 

"Then, with your kind permission, we will for¬ 
get the whole affair of the evening.” 

"Certainly, senor. I hope, however, that if I can 
ever do you a service you will call on me.” 

"I will not hesitate to do so if I need help. Thanks 
very much, monsieur.” 

And with this response Bon Villon dismissed the 
subject. They entered the saloon and seated them¬ 
selves at a table as if nothing had happened, such 
was the every day life of the early Louisianian. In 
the meantime, Cingaro, taking advantage of Bon 
Villon’s absence and the confusion resulting from 
Bellaco’s escape, had disappeared lest he be seen and 
recognized. 

"Now, senor, will you do me a favor?” asked 
Karet, lighting a cigarette. 

"With pleasure.” 

"I wish to know if you can inform me concern¬ 
ing a lovely lady whose name I do not know. I 
fancy you know her for she lives near you in the 
Dolette Hills. I came suddenly upon her only the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


145 


day before yesterday in the forest. She was sitting 
like a lost fairy upon a tree, but, alas, she fled, to 
my despair, and has left me wondering ever since.” 

"I think I can satisfy your curiosity on that score, 
Monsieur Karet.” 

"Good! How forunate I am to have made your 
acquaintance, senor,” he grinned boyishly. 

"And to think that only a few minutes ago we 
were flying at each other’s throats!” laughed Bon 
Villon. 

"Mon Dieu! But we did not know the desirable 
qualities in one another’s company. 

They smiled sheepishly at each other as Karet 
waited impatiently for the information he so de¬ 
sired. 

"I am sorry to disappoint you, monsieur, but the 
senora you so admire has a husband.” 

"Indeed, then it is true? She told me as much 
but seemed so young I found it hard to believe. Who 
is her husband, senor?” 

"She is the wife of Ocase Mataha!” 

Karet sprang from his chair. 

"Non, non! Par bleu, senor, surely you joke.” 

"Unfortunately, it is not a joke.” 

The soldier sank back in his chair, grieved in¬ 
credulity written all over his face. 

"Who was she before, senor?” 

"She was the granddaughter of Madame Lisso.” 


146 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"How could she ever have become the Indian’s 
wife?” asked the Frenchman disgustedly. 

"It is a sad story, monsieur, one that I hate to 
dwell on. Most any one here can tell you the cir¬ 
cumstances as they are known all over the country.” 

"Thank you, senor. I will not press you fur¬ 
ther.” 

They tried to converse on other topics but Karet’s 
gay, careless manner had deserted him. The con¬ 
versation lagged. Finally they parted for the night 
with a feeling of new found friendship, and shook 
hands with a promise soon to meet again. Sergeant 
Karet returned to his quarters in the fort, and Bon 
Villon left for the long ride to his home in the 
Dolette Hills. As he rode out of Spanish Town 
Ocase and his two Mexicans drew up beside him, 
and under their silent escort he rode away, his 
thoughts occupied by this second attempt on his 
life. 


XL 


Puzzled by the events at Smith’s Inn, Bon Villon 
remained at home for several days. The man who 
had tripped him while he was fighting Sergeant 
Karet, might have acted in sympathy for the 
Frenchman who was plainly more deeply under the 
influence of liquor than his opponent. It might 
also, have been pure coincidence that Madame 
Lisso’s warning had seemed to tally so well with the 
two possible attempts on his life. In the unsettled 
state of this country so many things happened, and 
were taken as a matter of course. His supposed 
connection with Ocase Mataha might have moti¬ 
vated an attempt on his life—Though tantalized 
by such reasoning, instinct warned that his game of 
hide and seek awith the enemy had succeeded. That 
the black menace from across the sea was near. 

Until he was sure, however, he would wait and 
watch. Unable to enter Spain for reasons known 
only to himself, he was compelled to depend on his 
agents there who as yet had accomplished nothing. 
As the days lengthened into a week, with no new 
developments, his hopes began to fade, and it was 


147 


148 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


then that he had some bad times with himself, often 
brooding, confronting some inner problem of his 
own. 

This early mid-September morn, as he sat at 
breakfast, Bon Villon considered riding over to 
Spanish Town for the day. Breakfast is always a 
leisurely affair in Louisiana. Here you feel as well 
as see the morning. The cool dampness of dew 
drenched woods and hills is delightful. Then, quite 
suddenly, another tropical day is in progress. 

Mulatto pottering nervously about in the kitchen, 
was told to saddle Midnight and bring him around 
to the front. 

"Yas suh, HI have dat hoss cotched and saddled 
fo’ you can say scat, Marse Villon,” the nigger re¬ 
plied. "I s’picioned you’se gwine to need Midnight 
dis mawnin 5 an guv him er good bate er cawn, mos 5 
er croker sack full, hits plum scandlous de way dat 
hoss eats.” 

"Here, give me another cup of coffee and what¬ 
ever is on your mind, out with it! I’m in a hurry 
this morning.” 

"Lawdy, I ’clare ter goodness, Marse Villon, how 
cum you can tell Fse got sumpin 5 on my mind dis 
mawnin?” 

"I am familiar with your symptoms, Mulatto.” 

"Yas-suh, sho 5 dat’s ’zackly what I’se got. I 
hates ter trubble you dis mawnin’, Marse Villon, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


149 


whilst you is in sech er hurry and all sot to visit wid 
de white ladies.” 

"The hell you say! What do you know about me 
and the ladies?” 

"I’se heerd talk uv hit at de fort. Dey ’low as 
how you is sho’ a conquerin’ angel wid de ladies at 
Spanish Town.” 

"The are quite too complimentary to me at 
Spanish Town. Who gave you your information?” 

"I got date inflamation fum de collored folks at 
de fort. Dey ’low as how you tucken dance fust, 
den fit, all in one night ovuh Mis’ Petra.” 

"The mischief you say!” Bon Villon looked down 
at his plate, a flush stealing over his neck and face. 

"Yas-suh, folk’s bound ter talk. Dem yaller 
gals at de fort ax me is hit so and I felt pow’ful put 
out, I kin tell you, ’case when dey ’lows all dis 
done happen and I ain’t heerd a word bout hit.” 

"Well, now that you have heard it, what’s worry¬ 
ing you?” 

"Well, Marse Villon, corse I ain’t nothin’ but er 
nigger, but yit and still I’se got muh notions same 
as de whites, an I’se gittin’ older ebery day, an dat 
night at de fort I ’lows as what I’se in de exact 
place ter study dis question er lub.” 

"Well, did you decide on yellow love or black?” 
his master asked, grinning into his plate. 

"Go ’way, Marse Villon, you knows I ain’t atter 
no black nigger.” 


150 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"So you are after a yellow one, then?” 

"Hits lak dis, Marse Villon. Fse ben co-tin’ dat 
gal er yeah dis cornin’ Chuesday, an t’other night at 
de fort me an Liza wuz sittin’ lazy lak befo’ de fiah 
in dat little shed room in de back yard uv de inn, 
when all unbeknowingst ter me de doar open an in 
cum er long, black nigger whut look lak er African 
gorillo mo’ en whut he favors hisself. Liza seed dat 
nigger furst and gin ter back er way frum me, an 
when I sidles up closter she tucken just fight me 
off. Den I seed dat nigger standin’ dar and I 
s’picion right den. I ris up an ax dat black fool 
whut he prowlin’ round fer, an he ’lows fer nothin’ 
in tic’lar. Den I tuck en tole him he bettah saunter 
summers else, and he ups and ’lows whut’s I got ter 
do wid hit. Den he smile at Liza knowin’ lak. At 
dat I got rampantin’ mad and hopped on dat nigger 
wid all foah foots. I sez, 'You ole pore corn-pone 
nigger, I’ll ’swade you.’ An, lawdy, Marse Villon, 
dat wuz de time I need dat razor you gimme an 
I done lef’ hit at home, dat black fool done got me 
down on de flo’ fore I knows hit, and wuz lam¬ 
bastin’ me wid his fists an me couldn’t git no more 
toe holt in de flo’ dan I could fly. But, bress de 
lawd, Liza wuz still dar an she grob er skillet an, 
lawdy, Marse Villon,” Mulatto slapped his knees 
with delight. "He! He! Dat gall gin ter lambas’ 
dat nigger. Lawdy, he! he! She sho’ mus’ hav er 
streak er Chickasaw in her fum de way she beat dat 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


151 


fool wid de skillet. It wuz plum scand’lous. Den 
he broke an run outer dare so fas’ I wuz plum 
’stonished. Lawdy, he! he!” 

Mulatto clapped his hands and bent double with 
laughter at the remembrance, showing an inch of 
blue gums above his white teeth. 

"I bounger dats one nigger whut b’leeves in de 
Scripture whut say 'Hits more bettah ter dwell in 
de wilderness dan wid a contenshious ’oman, sho!” 

"Well, how did you come out? Did Liza throw 
dishwater on you later?” 

"Dat she didn’t, Marse Villon. She greased my 
win’pipe an pulled up muh pallet and ’lows I’se her 
man for sho! Aain’t dat de simples’ kind uv co’tin’ 
fer us fightin’ men?” 

"Very simple, but a little strenuous for all that.” 

"Yas-suh, dat’s right. We needs de right impli- 
ments. Ain’t nobody fix ter fight outen deys got 
dere razor. I’se been studyin’ as how as I’se lef’ 
here right smart by meself, and no longer dan las’ 
night dat ole pan’ter cried all night in de hills— 
ain’t you heerd em yourself, Marse Villon? I neb- 
ber slep’ er wink and when you ain’t heah hits sho’ 
lonesum and mak me wish fer a comfortin’ pusson 
eroun! Liza’s sho’ handy ’roun’ er house, Marse 
Villon.” 

"Ah, ha! That’s it? You think a yellow girl 
who can weild a skillet would be a comforting 
person to have about, eh?” 


152 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"Yas-suh, you’se got dat zackly right. I wuz 
jus’ fixin’ ter ax you ter buy dat gal fer us.” 

"The deuce? You want to marry her?” 

"I sho’ does.” 

"To whom does she belong?” 

"She housemaid on Marse Lucien’s plantation at 
Point Coupe.” 

"Is that so? I know him. He owns a large num¬ 
ber of slaves and perhaps will sell one. I will see 
him and try to buy her.” 

"Lawdy, Marse Villon, I’se sho’ glad to heah you 
say dat?” 

"Are my pistols cleaned and loaded?” 

"Dat dey is, suh, as smooth as de road ter de¬ 
struction.” 

"Then bring my horse around.” 

As Bon Villon rode in the direction of Chief 
Ocase’s cabin he tightened his pistol belt and ex¬ 
amined both guns carefully,—a precaution he had 
not taken since coming to Louisiana. It was not 
his intention to be laid by the heels with a bullet in 
his back, so he rode to one side of the trail. When 
he came to the path that led to Ocase’s cabin, he 
turned that way just to say hello to his lonely little 
neighbor. 

Sabine heard his horse’s hoof-beat when he rode 
into the little clearing and waved to him from the 
cabin door. 

"Buenos diets, senor” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


153 


"Buenos dias, amiga” 

*T am so glad you have come. I was wishing for 
you.” 

"Then you must have willed me over, as I am on 
my way to Natchitoches and only by chance rode 
by. Has Ocase returned?” he asked, dismounting 
from his horse and seating himself on the doorstep. 

"He has not been home for several days. I heard 
him mention San Antonio and New Orleans in a 
conversation with that terrible Joe Sohone. I be¬ 
lieve Ocase has gone to one of those places. That 
is why I was wishing for you to come along. I 
think this is a good time to visit Granny. If you 
don’t mind I will saddle Antoine and ride that far 
with you.” 

"This will be good for you and old Granny too. 
Get yourself ready and we will make a quick trip 
of it.” 

He stepped across the yard with long, swinging 
strides and was back at the steps in a few minutes 
to find her ready and locking the cabin door. 
Pleased and excited over the trip she looked like a 
huge pink and white doll in her blue dress and wide 
hat. They had twenty miles to ride and the sun 
was already high in the heavens, so they rode rapidly 
over the silent hot hills to plunge as soon as possible 
into the swamp where it was damp and cool. Here 
they travelled more slowly, occasionally resting 
their horses in the dense shade. 


154 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Bon Villon lit a cigar and through the smoke, as 
he rode in silence, he watched the child-like figure 
on the little horse at his side, all eagerness for the 
grateful sight of her strange, wrinkled, old grand¬ 
mother and queer, bewhiskered Asa in their cabin 
on the Bayou Pierre. Her large hat became tire¬ 
some. She took it off and tied it to the horn of 
her saddle. The thick, golden hair, freed from re¬ 
straint, framed her pale face like an aureole of 
captured sunshine. 

"Come out of your trance, madam, I’m being 
ignored. What are you so busy thinking about?” 

"Many, many things. You would be surprised.” 

"You are too young and lovely to think so 
seriously, madame.” Bon Villon chided, still watch¬ 
ing her curiously. 

"I am not young and lovely—I am old and 
married.” 

"My Marcelena says you are gorgeous and 
adorable and for me to say for her, as I have told 
you before, that she loves you much more in your 
absence than she realized when you were with her 
every day.” 

Sabine turned in astonishment at his unexpected 
words. It was pitiful to see the glad light that swept 
her face, as if heaven had opened suddenly be¬ 
fore her making her white and radiant like an 
angel. Her blue eyes misted as she listened to 
the messages he repeated. She was so gratified and 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


155 


happy to hear again that her friends still loved 
her and would receive her just as they had before 
she became the wife of the Indian, that the sur¬ 
prise and strangeness of Bon Villon’s friendship for 
Marcelena, and the possessive manner in which he 
spoke of her, went unnoticed until long after¬ 
wards. 

As they plunged deeper into the swamp, Sabine 
grew silent. She had always hated and feared the 
swamp. It seemed to her a great, soulless monster 
that jeered in silence at the luckless travelers along 
its dim trails. Her bright soul demanded sunshine as 
do the birds and flowers. She was created for joy and 
gladness; the dark and damp oppressed her, and 
today the swamp seemed to bring the disastrous 
wreckage of her life more closely about her heart. 
Here again, in familiar surroundings, it all seemed 
more a horrible night-mare than ever before. 

She looked at Bon Villon. How handsome he 
was—how well he rode his black horse—and how 
good he was to ride with her today. Surely some 
kind fate, or perhaps God had sent him to Loui¬ 
siana just when she needed him most. But, what— 
was the dark shadow that hung over him—what 
meant the veiled hints from Ocase, that a danger 
stalked forever at his side—What could he have 
done to have made such an enemy? She remem¬ 
bered having once tried to question the half-breed 
about Bon Villon, but Ocase had merely given her 


156 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


a piercing look, as if to read her motive in asking— 
grunted—went his way. It was all such a mystery. 
Why did the senor never mention his family— 
anyone could tell by his appearance and actions that 
he was an aristocrat. Even the Sepulvedors were 
no more cultured—and of money, he seemed to 
have an unlimited supply. Ocase knew the solu¬ 
tion to all this mystery, and for some reason trusted 
Bon Villon, just the same as the senor, seemed to 
have a liking for the Indian, but surely, there was 
no connection—No! And on, and on, went Sabine’s 
thoughts, as the horses traveled single file along the 
darkened path through the swamp. 

It was mid-afternoon when they finally came 
out into the pines and rested ther horses for awhile 
in the cool air. 

Bon Villon’s thoughts had been playing truant 
to the petite Louisianian riding beside him, and had 
flown through leafy woods to a long cabin nestled 
in the midst of magnolia trees, where dwelt one with 
the lights of old Madrid lying in the depths of her 
gray eyes. This enchanted spot alone meant the 
end of the trail for him, and he sighed as they turned 
in at the little path leading in the opposite di¬ 
rection through the pines. 

Sabine, with the swamp behind her, was begin¬ 
ning to enjoy the trip and to look about with ex¬ 
cited pleasure. They rode slowly now, letting the 
tired horses take their time, while familiar places 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


157 


brought memories of other days. Sabine was im¬ 
patient to reach her old home and talked happily 
of each well-known spot along the road. 

"See that tree?” she cried, pointing. "Guydo 
carved our names on it while Marcelena sat in the 
very top of that old oak. She was always a tom¬ 
boy.” 

As she talked and gestured Bon Villon noticed the 
glint of a ring on her finger. 

"Why, you are wearing a new ring,” he said. 

"No, it is an old ring I have had for a long time.” 

She held out her hand, and was surprised to see 
him start, and hear him exclaim under his breath 
"Dios! Espossible?” Her eyes questioned him silent¬ 
ly as he caught her hand and continued to examine 
the ring minutely, holding it close to him and gaz¬ 
ing at it in puzzled concentration. 

"Where did you get it?” he asked wonderingly. 

"It was my mothers. My father gave it to her 
with a promise that he would return to her, but 
he never he never came back—Only letters and ex¬ 
cuses that soon killed her.” 

"This is indeed strange!” he almost whispered, 
giving Sabine a quick, startled look. 

"What is so strange about this ring?” Sabine 
asked, drawing herself a little straighter in her 
saddle. 

"That I have seen it before or one exactly like it, 


158 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


and was told it was made to order: the only one of 
its kind.” 

"Mercy me, then what does it all mean? Where 
did you see it?” she questioned excitedly. 

"In Madrid.” 

"Then perhaps you have seen my father, senor. 
Oh please try to remember. You can, can you 
not?” she begged. 

"Who WAS your father, Sabine?” he asked 
almost sharply. 

"I do not know” she replied flushing. Grand’mere 
never speaks of him. It was always of my beautiful 
mother she told me.” 

"Perhaps she will tell me, T11 ask her. This ring 
puzzles me,” he said, more as if thinking aloud than 
to his companion. 

Again he swept Sabine with a long, studied look. 
Then seeming to remember himself, patted her tiny 
hand and released it, all unconcious that Senorita 
Marcelena and the gay Karet, had watched the 
little scene from a fallen tree at the side of the 
trail. 

"If what I think is true then you are—but I must 
not think until I can see your grandmother and 
have a talk with her.” Stern and unsmiling Bon 
Villon continued to think aloud. 

Curious at his comment, Sabine endeavored to 
persuade the Spaniard to tell her what he thought. 
In vain she tried pleas, threats and pretended pout- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


159 


ing. Not only would Bon Villon not satisfy her 
curiosity but he even became silent and preoccupied. 
At the foot of the hill upon which stood the cabin 
of Madame Lisso Bon Villon roused himself. 

"Promise me, Sabine, that you will under no con¬ 
dition mention the matter of the ring to Madame 
Lisso until I have talked to her. As soon as I am 
satisfied in my own mind I shall tell you what I 
know.” 

She promised, though resenting the mystery. 

The long afternoon shadows were stretching 
across the road as Bon Villon and Sabine rode up to 
the cabin. The place had a lonely, deserted look 
but Sabine seemed not to mind as she dismounted 
at the gate and flew about, seeing everything at 
once. The door was unlocked and she rushed over 
the cabin in an ecstacy of delight at being home 
again. She stopped suddenly, head to one side lis¬ 
tening. 

"Hark, senor! Do you hear that queer noise? 
That is gran’mere at the graves.” 

She flew down the path to the spot in the woods 
where the old woman knelt worshipping at the 
graves of her dead. Bon Villon could hear the wild 
chanting of the quavering voice in the still evening, 
and thought it was little wonder the Indians and 
ignorant whites looked upon Madame Lisso with 
awe. Not wishing to intrude on the joyful meet- 


160 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


ing he remained on the little gallery until they came 
back together. 

Madame Lisso’s sunken black eyes were shining 
as she welcomed the tall senor in her own queer way. 
Taking him to one side she laid her bony hand on his 
arm. 

"I been trying to see you fer the longest, son. 
I come nigh goin’ to warn ye but me old bones be 
gitting stiff. I want ter warn ye that a black dan¬ 
ger is besettin’ ye,” she whispered in the strange 
unnatural voice nature had given her. "Don’t ask 
how ’tis I knows. But ’bide by what ole granny 
tells ye. Sho’ as God’s sun is shinin’ on us ye air 
threatened with a treacherous danger. See yonder 
swamp?” She pointed a bleak finger. "Hit’s dark 
as a wolf’s mouth and in hit air panters and snakes 
but guard again the wolf that lurks aroun’ in 
human form. I warn ye of a hungry beast from 
another country.” 

"Another country! What do you mean?” 

"How does the gray fox steal the chicken? How 
does the old witch as I’m called, pry secrets from 
the dark woods? Don’t ax me how I scent my 
secrets. This be ye second warning.” 

With that she turned and hobbled to where Sa¬ 
bine was trying to talk to old Asa who had slipped 
in the back door and now sat, surprised and alarmed, 
watching every move of Sabine with wondering 
eyes. Her presence confused his weak mind. To 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


161 


him she had been long dead and he feared her as a 
ghost. 

Promising to return a few days later and take 
Sabine back to the Dolette Hills, Bon Villon left. 
On arriving at Spanish Town an hour and a quar¬ 
ter later he called upon Colonel Lucien, and with 
considerable tact and persuasion finally succeeded 
in purchasing the mulatto girl, Liza, for eight hun¬ 
dred dollars. The sale closed, he retired without 
joining the crowd that caroused in the barroom of 
Smith’s Inn. 

At noon the next day he was ready to return 
home. As he prepared to leave the tavern he met 
Sam Lafitte, one of the very few settlers who had 
extended him their friendship. Sam was broad and 
fat faced with a red moustache that drooped like 
a water fall over his wide mouth. His French 
father must have married a huge German frau from 
the blondness and broadness of him. Sam was a 
striking contrast to the tall, dark haired Bon Villon. 
They entered the saloon to have a friendly bottle 
of wine together. 

"Oh, I say, senor,” said Sam over their glasses. 
"You’d better remain in Spanish Town tonight and 
not go on as you planned. Last night there were 
two strangers here, as villainous looking characters 
as I have ever seen, who were asking about you. 
They wanted to know where you lived, what roads 
you used in coming to town and a passel of such 


162 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


information. When I asked them why they wanted 
to know all this, they couldn’t give any very clear 
reason. I think you’d better stay over and see if 
you can find those birds.” 

Bon Villon smiled. 

"Thanks, my friend, but I have an appointment 
early tomorrow morning and I must go on. Thank 
you for your warning, Lafitte. I’m looking for¬ 
ward to meeting with those fellows.” His jaws set 
hard, and the glimpse Sam caught of the Spaniard’s 
eyes startled him, hardened old settler that he was. 

"Hell and the Devil!” he swore as he watched 
Bon Villon ride out of Spanish Town. "There’s 
something mighty dirty afoot and my Caballero 
knows about it. Well, here’s wishing you luck, you 
young devil,” and with this off his mind, Sam La¬ 
fitte waddled back into the tavern and up to his 
favorite place at the bar. 

A double warning that would have unnerved 
most men, seemed to fill Bon Villon with a strange 
elation. All he had heard seemed to make a clear 
pattern. But how he detested this lying low. He 
burned for physical encounter; to hunt, and ferrit 
out the lair he now knew was near, now—at once. 
But instinct warned against such obvious moves, 
and past experience made him heed the warning. 
The thought that his carefully laid plans might 
somehow again go wrong tortured him. "Dios!” 
he muttered. "Not again.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 163 

Midnight had been covering the ground in long 
running strides, but slowed down when Bon Villon 
gripped the reins, as his eyes swept the road ahead. 
Tracks, horse’s tracks, in the soft dirt where there 
had been none further back. Along here, the woods 
and underbrush crowded close to the trail. He drew 
rein and, dismounting, studied the prints carefully. 
From the spread of the tracks he knew at once they 
had been made by galloping horses. There were 
four sets of them—four horsemen. He wondered 
how far he had come before noticing the prints and, 
leading his horse by the bridle, he went back along 
the trail for about fifty yards when they ended 
abruptly. 

"Ah, I thought so,” he said to himself. "Here is 
where they entered the road from the woods. Per¬ 
haps I’m getting old womanish but I’ll look into 
this.” 

Mounting Midnight again he turned aside into 
the woods, and eyes and ears alert, rode parallel to 
the trail. Presently he plunged deeper into the 
woods and spurring his mount galloped ahead for 
a mile. Dismounting, he tied his horse to a sapling, 
then cautiously walked to the trail and scrutinized 
it carefully. 

"They have re-entered the woods somewhere be¬ 
tween here and the place where I first pickd up 
their tracks. I’ll explore a bit,” he thought. 

Moving along quietly he crept forward parallel 


164 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


to the trail and a few hundred yards beyond it. He 
had just reached a thicket of pines when a slight 
noise riveted his attention to a spot only a few yards 
away. He dropped to his stomach and lay motion¬ 
less, listening. 

"Ssh, I thought I heard a noise,” said a voice so 
close that it startled him. 

"Oh, you didn’t hear nothing. Didn’t I tell yer 
twarn’t no hurry; we’d hafto wait a damn long 
time?” 

Bon Villon snaked his way closer to the thicket 
and parted the bushes silently. Before him, in a 
little glen, sat four ruffians, their rifles across their 
laps. He recognized Bellaco as the villain who had 
tripped him at Smiths’ Inn the evening of the duel, 
another he thought was a member of Ocase’s gang 
but the other two were unknown to him. 

"Did they tell ye he was sho’ to be cornin’ this er 
way?” growled one of the strangers impatiently. 

"Yep, said he was sartain to.” 

"Fearless as a tiger and carries luck along in his 
pocket, but we’ll git the fine Senor Bon Villon this 
whack, nothin’ to stop us iffen he don’t drap dead 
afore he gits this fer.” 

Bon Villon’s lips became a line of gray and his 
eyes blackened as he watched the four unsuspecting 
villains. His fingers twitched around the pistol in 
his hand. "Hirelings,” he thought. "HI teach 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


165 


them, and that treacherous tripper will be the first 
to—” 

Suddenly there was a movement. The bandit 
member of Ocase’s gang leaped to his feet and 
screamed "The Phantom Rifleman!” Before his 
astonished companions could speak there came the 
sharp, quick report of a rifle and the man who had 
cried out fell forward to the ground. 

With cries of the "Phantom Rifleman!” the three 
survivors sprang to their feet and crashed in terror 
through the woods in mad flight. A little white 
smoke curled upward a few rods away where two 
tall pines stood apart. Looking at this spot, Bon 
Villon could only murmur, "Es possible!” Before 
he could recover himself the figure that had stood 
framed between the two trees noiselessly glided 
away into the depths of the forest. 

With a start Bon Villon remembered it was the 
seventeenth and marvelled that the rifleman never 
failed to detect one of the outlaw gang and send 
him to his death on that date. Grateful for the 
shot that had disbanded his foe, the Spaniard rose 
to his feet and walked up to the dead man. It was 
indeed a member of the half-breed’s gang. 

Twenty minutes later Bon Villon found his horse 
and rode thoughtfully through the long shadows of 
evening to his home. There he found Mulatto 
awaiting him. Reporting the successful purchase 
of Liza and the promise of her presence in the cabin 


166 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


within a day or two, the caballero sat down to his 
supper. 

The pale moon, rising late, saw him on his little 
gallery wrapped in thoughts as dark and foreboding 
as the ominous hills about him. 


XII. 


It was late in the afternoon of the seventeenth. 
At the door of Jose’s cabin on the edge of the swamp 
sat Cingaro. His heavily lidded eyes were fixed 
upon the trail down which Bellaco and his three 
accomplices had ridden early that morning. Im¬ 
patience and anticipation held him in their grasp 
and he stirred uneasily upon his rough bench. Since 
noon he had sat there, and now the afternoon sun 
was gliding slowly down the west and still Bellaco 
had not returned. 

The afternoon aged. Long black fingers of 
shadow, lengthening as the sun declined, stretched 
out across the swamp, groping, clutching, envelop¬ 
ing more and more of the woods in their dark grasp. 
The birds ceased their throaty farewells to the dy¬ 
ing day and the frogs and the night prowlers awaked 
to activity. In the west burned a few streaks of 
red and yellow and orange. Gradually these faded 
into gray and then into velvety black. 

A hundred times the priest had started eagerly 
from his seat as his ears caught some sound from the 


167 


168 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


forest, and a hundred times he sank back upon his 
bench disappointed. 

The waters of the swamp were black in the twi¬ 
light when at last came the unmistakable sounds of 
horse’s hoofs. Cingaro’s face brightened as he peered 
into the gathering darkness, then changed; the 
sound was that of a single rider. Faint misgivings 
overcast his expectation as he rose and walked for¬ 
ward to meet Bellaco. 

Throwing the reins over the head of his horse 
Bellaco came forward uncertainly. 

"'Where are the others?” screeched Cingaro in a 
high, excited key. 

"I don’t know, father,” replied Bellaco in a tired, 
discouraged tone that shattered the priest’s hope 
that they might be following with a prisoner. 

"You don’t know! What do you mean, fool?” 

"I don’t know where but-t o-o-one of t-them is, 
the others-s left suddenly, f-father.” 

The servant was mortally afraid of his master’s 
wrath and the fearful shock he had received on the 
Bayou Scie road that afternon had wrecked his 
courage. Cingaro saw that something terrible was 
amiss, and tried to control his rising temper, though 
his face was livid with suppressed anger. 

"I w-will tell you a-about it, f-father,” quavered 
Bellaco. "We s-sat in the w-woods w-waiting for 
him, for Bon Villon, when the Phantom Rifleman 
k-killed Jake.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


169 


"Who is the Phantom Rifleman?” yelled the 
priest. 

"I c-can’y s-say, father. We were lying in wait 
to lasso Bon Villon and get him alive when t-there 
was a t-terrible sound like an earthquake, and Jake 
fell over crying 'The Phantom Rifleman!’ And 
t-there in plain sight stood an awful object in white 
waving its arms at us. And that’s the last I knew 
until I found myself on my horse running him as 
fast as I could.” 

Bellaco’s voice sank to a hoarse whisper and 
cracked on the last word. 

"What became of Bon Villon?” asked the priest, 
his white lips working over his teeth in an effort at 
self-control. 

"We never did see him!” 

Bellaco trembled at the anger in the master’s eyes. 

"What could I do when all the others fled?” he 
quavered. "The phantom shot at Jake and the 
three men I had hired took to their heels.” 

Cingaro watched him with cold, unemotional 
eyes. Though he did not understand the talk about 
this phantom rifleman, he could see that a terrible 
fright had been thrown into his servant and that 
this might defeat his own plans unless it were 
promptly dealt with. He must quiet Bellaco’s fears 
and try again. 

"It was no ghost, my son, you may rest assured 
of that,” he said in his usual soft purr, trusting 


170 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


that Bellaco’s faith in his priestly powers would 
lend weight to his words. "You have strong emo¬ 
tions, but no head to balance them, and it is well 
you have in me a guide to lead you. You are need¬ 
lessly alarmed, my good Bellaco, but I shall arm 
you against wicked spirits, for none but the wicked 
appear. Here is a potent charm, a little silver 
chain from Jerusalem. Take it and fear no ghosts 
or devils as long as you wear it. Now go, find 
again our scattered friends and meet me tomorrow 
at our rendezvous near Spanish Town. We shall 
try again this time, by St. Jago, we will not faiL’ > 

Relieved that he had escaped so easily from the 
angry storm he so feared, Bellaco turned his horse 
and disappeared down the path. 

The morning after Bon Villon’s experience with 
the mysterious rifleman he rode in the direction of 
the Bayou San Miguel. The secret that had festered 
so long in his breast faded into the background as 
his mind centered upon Marcelena. There was a 
feeling of excitement in his heart. Thoughts of 
her brought a new vision of life. Again and again 
her dark vivid face rose before him—her voice— 
the things she said. He was happy and before 
long was fording the Bayou San Miguel and look¬ 
ing about in search of his sweetheart. 

But Marcelena was not to be seen. Tieing his 
horse he hastened on eager feet along the course of 
the stream, ears and eyes alert. Rounding a little 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


171 


clump of bushes he heard a soft voice raised ques- 
tioningly, "And why not the Senor Bon Villon?” 

"Ah, querida mia, are you hiding from me?” he 
asked, his rich, deep tones vibrating with emotion. 

There was an answering gasp and, parting the 
undergrowth before him, Bon Villon stopped en¬ 
chanted. There, within the shade of the grape vines 
beside the pool, the trees casting waving shadows 
over her, she sat. A great sumac bush flung its 
carmine leaves about her and into the pool at her 
feet. How beautiful she was in her pose of startled 
surprise, the lights in her gray eyes thrilled and 
filled his soul with exquisite rapture as she turned a 
startled, tragic look at him. 

"I have searched up and down the bayou for you, 
querida, and had about made up my mind to go to 
your home when I heard you call me.” 

She remained silent, her expression of surprise 
giving way to a look that baffled him; it seemed as 
if a film of ice had been drawn over the deep pools 
of her eyes. He felt chilled. 

"You seem surprised to see me, querida, as if 
you did not name the place and time at our last 
meeting. Did you forget? How could you, my 
beautiful, when it has never been absent from my 
thoughts for a single moment?” 

Smiling he parted the vines farther and entered 
her sylvan retreat. 

"Sientese, Senor Bon Villon, you have paid me 


172 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


back in full for spying on you the day I caught you 
making faces at Little Frog. I surely must have 
been far away in dreams not to have heard you 
approaching. My eyes betrayed me for a moment. 
I mistook—but you are here now. Let us be 
seated.” 

The coldness of her tone and the uncompleted 
sentence struck him unpleasantly. 

"Did you mistake me for your brother?” 

"No, Senor Bon Villon. Guydo is at Spanish 
Town.” 

"Your father, perhaps?” 

"Non, my father is enjoying a siesta at this hour.” 

"Well, whom did you take me for, beautiful 
one?” he said. 

He attempted to capture her hand, and looked 
with ardent uncertainty into her eyes with their 
cold lights half-hidden in a manner new to him. 
She retained the freedom of her hand and drew 
away from him. 

"Sergeant Karet Broussard often comes this way,” 
she replied coldly. 

A queer pain of surprised jealousy answered her 
unexpected thrust, and Bon Villon felt the hot flush 
that swept his neck and face. He raised his reclin¬ 
ing position at her feet and looked her straight in 
the face as if seeking there the answer to her unusual 
attitude. 

"Are you trying to make me jealous today, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


173 


senorita? ’Twould be an easy thing to do.” 

"Gracias, no. Such a pastime would not be suf¬ 
ficiently interesting, Senor Bon Villon.” 

He now gazed at her in real surprise. He de¬ 
tected the intentional sting in her words, a calcu¬ 
lated coldness in her attitude that puzzled and hurt 
him. He tried to think what he had done to merit 
such a reception, while his dark eyes pleaded with 
her, a tender worship struggling in them with the 
doubt and uncertainty raised by her words. 

"Sergeant Karet is our good friend—you are not 
implying more, senorita?” 

"Sergeant Karet is many things. He is hand¬ 
some, and gay and sincere.” 

Her voice stressed the last word as she checked 
off on her fingers the soldier’s attractions. If only 
she could make him think that she did not care. 
She must mask her hurt with coldness, bitterness, 
put on a bold front that he might not still 
believe her the susceptible dupe she had been. 
There was only one thing to do—hurt this hand¬ 
some, heartless Spaniard’s self esteem with scorn 
and contempt, even as he had made her suffer 
by unfaithfulness. The thought brought a cold 
fury of hate to quiet the tumult that raged in her 
brain. For the first time she allowed her gaze to 
meet him squarely. 

Until now Bon Villon was puzzled to know the 


174 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


meaning underlying his sweetheart’s strange man¬ 
ner. He half believed she was playing him a trick 
and expected at any moment she would laugh and 
tell him so. Now he saw the cold little demons 
dancing in the half-closed eyes regarding him con¬ 
temptuously, and knew that she was not playing 
with but was deliberately torturing him. This 
revelation instantly cooled his ardor and caused his 
anxious, dark eyes to change to black diamonds, his 
lips to a straight line. He reached for his som¬ 
brero. 

*T fear I have made a mistake in presuming that 
you expected me here today. If you will pardon 
the intrusion I will take myself to a more welcome 
spot.” 

Marcelena sat straight and still as he arose to go 
while a terrible pain tore and twisted at her heart. 
Deep, deep down in her tortured self she fought a 
mad desire to grovel at his feet, to forgive all, if 
only to feel his arms about her once again. Pride, 
anger and all feeling but hunger for him was swept 
away as she saw him part the curtain of vines, and 
watched him bow cooly without once glancing her 
way. 

ff Buenos tardes, senorita ” 

"Adios, senor,” she heard herself say as though in 
a nightmare while the vines closed behind him. 

Bon Villon strode to where his horse was tethered. 
A feeling of cold rage oppressed his senses. Strange, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


175 


mad impulses swept over him. He longed to re¬ 
turn to the grape arbor and wring the truth from 
her. His horse whinnied a greeting as he unhitched 
him but the seething turmoil in his brain made him 
oblivious of everything. He was many miles away 
on the Spanish Trail before his anger subsided and 
his common sense helped him back to sane reason¬ 
ing. Something had happened, something more 
than she had told. He scouted the thought that she 
was the changeable minx she would have him be¬ 
lieve. Some vile gossip had reached her ears—could 
Sergeant Karet Broussard stoop to that? No, it was 
unbelievable, and yet she had said— 

Round and round the scene on the bayou re¬ 
volved in his thoughts. His world seemed to spin 
itself to hollow nothingness. Day followed day 
with only memories for company. 


XIII. 


Breakfast was over at Smith’s Inn but Sergeant 
Karet still sat at his table, lost in brooding thoughts. 
During the latter part of August he had been ex¬ 
ceedingly busy with his military duties. Governor 
Claiborne had met General Wilkinson at Alexandria 
for a military council. In their discussions it had 
become plain that the American forces were not 
sufficiently strong for an immediate attack on the 
Spanish General Herra who was encamped with his 
troops on the Sabine River. Some step, however, 
had to be taken lest American passivity be taken as 
an acceptance of the Spanish claim to the Neutral 
Strip. Accordingly, upon the break-up of the 
council, General Wilkinson journeyed south to Nat¬ 
chitoches. From this station he dispatched Colonel 
Cushing with a message to Cordero, ordering him 
to remove his troops from the west side of the Sa¬ 
bine River, to the east. 

Sergeant Karet had been with Cushing’s party 
and when the message was delivered, the Spanish 
authorities informed Cordero that Wilkinson could 
proceed to the Sabine to settle the boundary be- 


176 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


177 


tween the two nations. However, by the time the 
message was delivered to General Wilkinson other 
more pressing matters were demanding his atten¬ 
tion and the boundary settlement was temporarily 
abandoned. 

With the return of Colonel Cushing to Natchi¬ 
toches, Sergeant Karet had been dispatched to his 
old post at Spanish Town. Life at his post was now 
uneventful and calm. Ocase Mataha, the capture 
of whom was now his most pressing duty, was out 
of the settlement and the gallant soldier had noth¬ 
ing but his thoughts to occupy his over-abundant 
leisure. 

Now those thoughts of late had been anything 
but pleasant. Again and again during the past 
weeks they had returned to the lovely girl he had 
seen in the Dolette Hills. It had been a shock and 
a grief to learn that Sabine was the wife of the half- 
breed whom it had become his duty to capture and 
punish, but a greater torture had become his when, 
just before he had joined Colonel Cushing, he had 
learned that Sabine loved his new found friend, 
Senor Bon Villon. 

This morning, as he toyed with his coffee cup, 
the sergeant’s mind went back to the day in mid- 
August when he and Marcelena Sepulvedor had 
been riding together through the woods near the 
San Miguel. As they rested their horses in the shade 
of a thicket beside the old Spanish Trail they had 


178 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


been surprised to see Senor Bon Villon and Sabine 
ride silently down the road. Startled, he and Mar- 
celena had prepared to announce their presence in 
glad greeting when the attitude of the newcomers 
had frozen the words on their tongues; the Cabal¬ 
lero was holding the hand of the beautiful Sabine 
and bending upon her the most ardent looks of love. 
Neither he nor Marcelena could break in upon that 
attitude and look. Consequently, the lovers had 
ridden past unaware they had been seen. 

Again and again that scene had arisen to torment 
Karet. In sleepless hours of the night his anguished 
mind had recreated the pleased, excited look on the 
face of Sabine as Bon Villon talked to her so earnest¬ 
ly and held her hand so closely. It rose before him 
now in all its torturing clearness. Try as he would 
he could not shake off the depressing thoughts nor 
the pain they caused him. 

Seeing him lost in abstraction and more than half 
captivated by his careless love-making, Petra left 
her place behind the bar and came toward his table. 
She stopped before him, one plump hand on her 
curving hip, her brown hair curled coquetishly, 
limpid eyes fixed upon him. Chafing at his long 
neglect, her words had the sting that comes natural¬ 
ly to a disappointed cher-amie , "Faith, am I, then, 
so hateful to the eyes that monsieur dreads the sight 
of me, or is old age overtaking our gay deceiver?” 

"Ah, my petite Petra, are you here?” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


179 


He reached for her and pulled her to his lap 
where she sat in pleased, pouting prettiness. When 
Smith waddled into the room and found them thus 
he chuckled deep in his round stomach that the 
morose sergeant was at last coming out of his 
grouch. But these cheap amours had lost their 
savor for the Frenchman and he soon shook off the 
too willingly given caresses of the barmaid and 
wandered out of the tavern and about the barri¬ 
cade, growing gloomier as the sun mounted higher 
and higher in the cloudless sky. 

"Sacre bleu!” he said, wiping his perspiring face 
while the sun shimmered down in hot still waves 
on the green face of the earth and the quiet little 
fort. "This feeling is getting the best of me, IT1 
ride.” 

And ride he did as soon as his horse was saddled. 
He would accept the invitation Senor Bon Villon 
had extended him and pass a day or two at his 
friend’s home. This happy thought pleased him 
and giving his horse the reins he surrendered him¬ 
self to thoughts of the lovely and unattainable Sa¬ 
bine. 

As he plunged deeper into the Bayou Scie swamp 
the silent brooding shadows fell back to give place 
to the golden haired image that floated ahead with 
a beaconing look in its blue eyes. When he emerged 
from the swamp a while later, the afternoon sun 
hung low over the hills in a sweltering gold. Left 


180 The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


to itself, the horse turned off at the first bypath and 
continued on through the woods. Presently the 
horse stopped, and looking up, Karet was astonished 
to find himself before the home of the woman about 
whom he had been so intently thinking. In the 
doorway of the hut stood Sabine herself like a gold¬ 
en buttercup within a wooden frame. He could 
only stare, divided between dream and reality. 

Sabine’s heart fluttered like a captured bird as 
he rode boldly up to her door. Surprise mingled 
with a strange, thrilled feeling swept over her 
and made stars of her unbelieving eyes. She was 
alarmed at the recklessness of this audacious French¬ 
man. Could it be that he had come thus openly 
to capture Ocase single handed? What foolishness, 
with the Indian at most only a mile or two away, 
for Ocase had come in during the night and left 
both his horses in the lot this morning. She must 
get rid of her caller at once, and without waiting 
a moment, she stepped back and closed the cabin 
door just as Karet was dismounting from his horse. 
He threw the reins over the saddle horn and started 
for the cabin but stopped dead in his tracks as he 
looked up and was struck full in the face by the 
closed door. 

"Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed angrily, his hopes of 
crimson romance dying almost at their birth and 
his vanity as a heart-breaker receiving its death 
blow. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


181 


While he stood looking at the cabin in a state of 
puzzled indecision Sabine was watching him un¬ 
easily through a crack. A feeling of pity possessed 
her and shame for the discourtesy of her act, but 
she was shrewd enough to see his keen disappoint¬ 
ment, and woman enough to enjoy it. Ah—! She 
gasped, incredulous—, panicky as she saw him toss 
his handsome brown head proudly and march de¬ 
terminedly toward the house. At his loud knock 
she stood still, hoping he would go away but a sec¬ 
ond and louder knock galvanized her into impa¬ 
tient anger. She would open that door and send 
him about his business; she would snap her fingers 
at this fine sergeant with his bold ways coming to 
the very door of the Indian who was perhaps this 
very minute watching him from the cover of the 
woods. She unlatched the door and, furious, looked 
straight at the Frenchman. She’d teach this bold 
madman. But the passion of anger he had aroused 
suddenly left her cold and weak with the thought 
of his great danger. Ocase— 

At sight of her he seemed stricken dumb. He 
was standing nearer her now and she saw his tender, 
sunny brown eyes devouring her with hungry 
adoration, and her cold little heart swelled and felt 
like bursting in her breast. They looked into each 
others eyes and time ticked an epoch in their lives 
during the space their glances met and clung. Sa¬ 
bine gathered her thoughts from the chaos into 


182 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


which the sight of him had thrown her and tried to 
make her trembling voice stern. 

"Monsieur, your audacity is only surpassed by 
your foolishness in daring to come here. This is 
Chief Ocase’s home and I, his wife, wish you to go 
away at once. Ocase has only stepped into the woods 
and is likely to return any moment. So please, please 
go!” 

The officer did not move but continued to feast 
his eyes on her golden beauty as if he had not heard 
what she said. Sabine’s face flushed at the open 
admiration of his look. 

"Will you go, monsieur? For the love of God, 
go! I am frantic because you will not realize your 
danger.” 

"But, madame, I have just arrived!” 

"If you do not leave at once I shall leave the house 
the back way for I cannot bear to see you mur¬ 
dered.” 

He saw that her blue eyes were swimming in tears 
and this moved him as nothing else could. 

"I will go, petite viadame. I can not bear to have 
you in tears but I should enjoy meeting your hus¬ 
band immensely. Your wish shall be my law today. 
There will be another time and place where I shall 
make the acquaintance of Chief Ocase. I have been 
permitted to look upon your lovely face and that 
is much, much more than I had hoped for. Would 
madame kindly direct me to the home of Senor Bon 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


183 


Villon? I had started to see him and fortunately 
took the wrong trail. I trust madame’s sense of 
direction will prove surer today than at our last 
meeting!” 

His merry eyes laughed down on her with a look 
that kept the warm blood pounding in her veins 
long afterward, but now her only thought was to 
hurry him away. She pointed the way down the 
path that led to Bon Villon’s home and when he 
caught the white little hand and printed a hot kiss 
on its palm, the ice melted in her face and little 
gleams of wonder and pain crept over it. Her eyes 
swept the unruly brown hair and her soft palm felt 
the warmth of his lips. He looked at her for a mo¬ 
ment as if to get her every feature photographed 
on his memory. With a low bow he then unhur¬ 
riedly walked to his horse, mounted and rode away. 
But before the woods closed in on him, he turned, 
and was filled with a great rapture to find her still 
standing in the door. On impulse he swept the soft 
hat from his head and kissed his hand to her. 

Gone now was the gloom of the day for Karet. 
It had melted into a thing of joy. He rode swiftly, 
the beaming mid-afternoon sun throwing patterns 
of light and shade over him as it slanted through 
the trees and lengthened the shadows across the lit¬ 
tle path that led over the Dolette Hills. 

Dieu, he was trying to live in a fool’s paradise. 
He was a fool, a great fool. She was the Indian’s 


184 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


lawful wife and more than that, in love with the 
handsome Bon Villon. Yes—he was just an im¬ 
becile Frenchman. And yet—her look had meant 
something—what had her eyes said to him in that 
one breath-taking moment. Surely she had never 
looked at Senor Bon Villon like that. But,—dam¬ 
nation! She was so sweet, so adorably white and 
sweet. 

In this frame of mind he rode up the path to the 
senor’s little home just as the red sun flared sinking 
behind the hills. 

From the shade of his gallery, Bon Villon, some¬ 
what surprised, watched the Sergeant as his horse 
came swiftly down the path to his gate. His hot 
blood pounded for a moment—this was the man 
who had stolen Marcelena from him. Then he was 
down the steps striding along to meet his visitor and 
genuinely glad to see him. 

"Buenos noches, sergeant, this is a real surprise.” 
He said greeting Karet as he dismounted at the gate. 

"Mil gracias for inviting me, senor,” the soldier 
answered. "The general’s orders to march to Sabine 
River were recalled so I picked this time to find out 
where you live.” 

"Bueno, I am glad. This has been a miserably hot 
day in the hills. You are just in time for coffee.” 

Karet looking about saw that Bon Villon lived 
simply. His house consisted of two large rooms 
with a kitchen on the back. The place was shel- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


185 


tered in the midst of hills except on the east side 
where there was a little valley along the course of 
the Dolette Bayou, a hustling, singing stream with¬ 
in thirty feet of the house. 

While the sergeant admired the natural beauty 
of the place, he could hear Mulatto at the woodpile 
chopping, and Liza humming as she ground coffee 
in the kitchen. He watched the sinking sun kiss 
goodbye to the hills in a last golden glow and some¬ 
how felt a soothing peace steal over him. 

“I see you like my hills, sergeant. So do I, es¬ 
pecially in the Fall.” 

Liza appeared with a tray of black coffee. 

"This is Liza, Sergeant Karet, my new maid of 
all work and this is Mulatto, groom, butler and 
general manager of the Bon Villon establishment.” 

Liza was smiling and Mulatto grinning, hat in 
hand, at the end of the gallery. Both were im¬ 
pressed with the importance of the occasion. 

"Attend to Monsieur Karet’s horse, Mulatto.” 

"Yas-suh, yas-suh, sho! I’se seed Marse K’ret 
befo! I ’lows you’ll stay a right smart while wid 
us, Marse K’ret?” 

"May do that, Mulatto, I like the Dolette Hills.” 

"Sho’ glad ter hear dat. I run er long an give yo’ 
hoss er bait er cawn. Jus’ guv Midnight a whole 
passel.” And he grinned himself out and away to 
the lot. 

"Now, Liza,” said her master as she came for the 


186 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


coffee cups. "Put the big pot in the little pot while 
Monsieur Karet is here.” 

"Sho’, Marse Villon, I’se gwine ter change de diet 
on dis place. Lawd, lemme in dat kitchen.” 

The two men sat talking, each looking at the 
other through the eyes of the woman he loved and 
seeing in him the qualities that had won a love 
where he had failed. They liked each other in spite 
of their rivalry. Supper over, they returned to the 
dark gallery and resumed their conversation. The 
moon rose and wove fantastic patterns over the lit¬ 
tle yard and house. Mulatto came often with wine 
and cigars and the two friends talked of everything 
but the subject closest to their hearts. The moon 
sailed under a cloud and the glow of their cigars 
made the only light. 

Karet had been thinking constantly of Bon Vil¬ 
lon and Sabine. He longed to confess that he had 
witnessed their litle love scene in the San Miguel 
woods but he was not sure how this hot headed 
Spaniard would receive this revelation. Now, dur¬ 
ing a pause in their conversation, with the silence 
of the hills all about him, he grew more and more 
silent. To his impulsive nature, concealment was 
a torture. He was accepting Bon Villon’s hospital¬ 
ity and harboring hot jealousy for him at the same 
time. 

"Damnation!” he whispered louder than he 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


187 


should and Bon Villon’s cigar ceased to function at 
the sound. 

"How was that, are you annoyed at something, 
sergeant?” 

"Dios, senor, did I speak aloud or are you a mind- 
reader?” 

"Both, sergeant. What’s on your mind??” 

"Thanks, senor, but I was not intending to men¬ 
tion this matter to you.” He groped about in his 
mind for words to express his thoughts without giv¬ 
ing offense to his friend. 

"It is not my wish to presume on your confi¬ 
dence, sergeant, but possibly I might help you 
straighten out this matter that is worrying you.” 

The Frenchman thought to himself, "Indeed you 
can—if you will.” Aloud he said, "It is I who 
would be presuming. Mon Dieu! Senor, I would 
not offend you for my life and this matter is very 
personal.” 

"Fire away, sergeant. I have ceased to take of¬ 
fense. Louisiana has cured me of that.” 

Karet cleared his throat nervously. Bon Villon 
wondered uneasily what the impulsive Frenchman 
would divulge. Would he ask advice about his love 
for Marcelena? Black jealousy of the soldier swept 
him and his dark, handsome features were set in a 
deadly calm while he waited in the silence, his heart 
growing cold at the bleak outlook on life that would 
be his when he knew for certain that Marcelena 


188 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


loved another. Despite her coldness and hostility 
the last time he had seen her on the Bayou San 
Miguel, hope had not died when he walked away 
from the little pool. Would the soldier take away 
even that hope, that slender thread that had sus¬ 
tained him in the days that had followed? 

"I hope you will believe me, senor,” began Karet 
in a hesitant, constrained voice, "when I swear that 
I have tried to overcome this mad spell that is on 
me. I know it is hopeless in every way—but in spite 
of it all I must face the facts and confess that I, too, 
am madly in love with the beautiful wife of the In¬ 
dian, Ocase.” 

Bon Villon’s jaws gripped as for a blow, fell apart 
in the friendly dark. Sabine and not Marcelena! 

"What are you driving at, sergeant? Please ex¬ 
plain. You surely do not accuse me of being in love 
with Sabine?” 

"Mon Dieu , senor, but is it not so?” 

"Why—I in love with Sabine? I am astounded. 
Where did you get that notion?” 

The Spaniard’s voice sounded gruff but it was 
the gruffness of sudden joy. The hurt, uncompre¬ 
hending, hopeless feeling that had raged in his jeal¬ 
ous heart for the past few days had vanished, and 
joy unlimited swept over him as he thought his gray 
eyed love might still be his. 

"I know it is none of my affair, senor, but I am 
enjoying your charming hospitality and I think it 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


189 


best for us thoroughly to understand each other. I 
wish you to know that the Senorita Marcelena and 
myself were sitting at the side of the road last week 
when you and Madame Sabine rode by. You were 
holding madame’s hand and talking earnestly. Nat¬ 
urally we drew conclusions.” 

Bon Villon drew a long breath. Marcelena had 
seen him examining Sabine’s ring and has jumped 
to the hasty opinion that he had been unfaithful. 
So that was what lay behind her unusual beaviour 
at the Bayou San Miguel. His heart leaped for re¬ 
lief and new life seemed to race thruogh his veins. 

"So, that is how it was—you and Senorita Mar¬ 
celena concluded then and there that I was declar¬ 
ing my love for Sabine?” And the stern, self-con¬ 
tained Spaniard roared with laughter to the great 
astonishment of Karet. The ringing gladness of it, 
however, gave hope to the depressed Frenchman and 
he leaned forward. 

"What else were we to think? We saw you—” 

"Why, my dear sergeant, I could no more love 
Sabine than I could a sister. That is the way I feel 
toward her—like a brother. I am glad you have 
told me this and I will explain to you—” 

"That is enough, senor. You need not explain 
anything.” 

"But I wish to.” 

And Bon Villon, his heart inexpressibly light, told 
the soldier about the ring and, happy himself, he 


190 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


was glad to relieve the poor fellow’s mind, even as 
his own had been relieved, though deep concern 
swept over him as he realized how madly infatuated 
Monsieur Karet really was with Sabine. Knowing 
the vicious Ocase and what it meant to him to pos¬ 
sess a beautiful white wife, he felt cold shivers run 
up his spine at what the outcome of this might be. 
Tactfully, he tried to warn his friend Karet, but his 
words failed to elicit a reply from the Frenchman 
who merely smoked harder and said less. This 
silent mood sat strangely on the volatile Karet: peace 
had stolen over his hot restless heart. He sat con¬ 
tented, listening to the ever present murmer of 
the little bayou as it sang its way through the night, 
disturbed at intervals by the deep bassoing of bull 
frogs rejoicing in the prospect of coming rain. 

Conversation between the two men on the little 
gallery waned and died. Each was busy with pleas¬ 
ant thoughts quite different from his feeling earlier 
in the evening. Not long afterwards they retired. 
Bon Villon, happier than he had been in many days, 
surrendered himself to pleasant thoughts and was 
soon asleep. Karet, however, lay still in wide-eyed 
wakefulness for hours before drifting into troubled 
sleep that brought only horrible dreams: Sabine, 
in all her exquisite loveliness stood by the little bayou 
that sang in his ears, a cruel faced savage crept 
stealthily up behind her, a struggle, a raised hunting 
knife, a splash of blood and she lay with her face 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


191 


cold and white in the moonlight; the savage turned, 
it was the dark cruel face of the half-breed. The 
senor’s dog growled deep and ugly, rattling his 
chain. The noise awakened Karet; he opened his 
eyes to find the moon peeping through the little 
window from behind a cloud. He lay back again 
but sleep would not come. He lit a cigarette and 
slipped out onto the gallery where he stood leaning 
against one of the posts, his sombre eyes fixed on the 
dark shadows beyond the bayou. His dream had 
been so real that he jumped as a stick cracked in the 
yard, and a bird fluttered in the vines at Bon Vil¬ 
lon’s window. He stepped softly in his bare feet 
to the edge of the gallery and stood aghast at the 
sight that met his eyes. 

Under his host’s window four men were creeping 
along the ground on their hands and knees. He 
could see them plainly in the moonlight. One arose 
and, stooping over, peered into the Spaniard’s room. 
He pushed aside the vines and, assisted by the other 
three, prepared to climb in. Karet’s first thought 
was to rush out on them but one against four and 
unarmed would avail nothing. If he shouted it 
would only hurry them to act. His mind worked 
like lightning. He would dash into the house— 
Then he heard the low growl of a dog and remem¬ 
bered that they had forgotten to unchain the big 
wolf hound at the steps, and it was the dog’s restless 
growls that had disturbed his dreams. In a flash 


192 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Karet had leaped over the gallery, unchained the 
great dog and sent him flying to his master’s rescue. 
The animal launched himself on the villain at the 
window who had just worked his way through the 
honeysuckle and was half way in. At the dog’s 
charge the men supporting the one climbing in the 
window turned loose and let him fall thudding to 
the ground. There was a terrible growl and a 
strangled scream for help. Karet, calling loudly to 
Bon Villon, dashed into the house for his pistols. 
He was out again in an instant but the attackers 
save the one at whose heels the wolf hound had on 
his back as it teased and twisted at his neck with 
increasing fury, were out of sight and hearing. The 
Frenchman tried to call off the animal, but it was 
the firm voice of his master, "Off! Tiger, let go!” 
that caused the dog, his neck wet with the blood 
of his victim, to release the captive. 

Bon Villon called to the quivering Mulatto and 
the three carried the unconscious man to the gallery 
and laid him down. He was not dead but badly 
wounded about the shoulders and neck. They 
washed and bound up his wounds and tried to re¬ 
vive him sufficiently to make him talk, but he was 
either unconscious from fright or pretending to be, 
so they failed to get a word from him. Mulatto was 
so frightened that Bon Villon sent him back to bed. 

Sergeant Karet explained how he had managed 
to foil the attack. The man on the floor remained 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


193 


in a dazed, unconscious state and was still so when 
they left him tied securely to a post and Tiger un¬ 
chained in the yard. They fastened the doors and 
windows and returned to their beds. This time the 
soldier slept and Bon Villon lay awake thinking. He 
would keep the damned assassin until he did talk. 
There was more than one way to make him; but 
next morning the captive was gone—Old Tiger lay 
in the yard dead. He had been caught with a lasso 
and choked to death. 


XIV. 


For the next few days after the attempted entry 
of Bon Villon’s home Sergeant Karet remained at 
the house in the Dolette Hills as the guest of the 
Spaniard. The days passed quietly and unevent¬ 
fully. There was hunting and fishing in the morn¬ 
ing, conversation and the reading of old gazettes in 
the evening. Tiring of these, the two men often 
took down their swords and practiced fencing. 
The tall, lithe Spaniard taught the soldier carte and 
tierce in the shade of the great spreading oaks, with 
the green grass and the blue sky for their fencing 
parlor. 

During those days Karet was strongly tempted 
to urge the Senor Bon Villon to tell of this secret 
enemy who persecuted him so persistently, but here 
he seemed always to meet a stone wall of reticence 
he could not scale. The visit passed without any 
revelation from his host and without any renewed 
activity from the enemy. 

On the third morning Sergeant Karet decided to 
return to the fort to see if new orders from his gen¬ 
eral had arrived. In the back of his mind was the 


194 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


195 


thought of returning by the path over which he 
had come with the possibility of again seeing Ma¬ 
dame Sabine. 

As he rode away from Bon Villon’s home along 
the path he had travelled only three days before, 
Karet felt a sense of depression at leaving his friend 
alone in the trackless hills at the mercy of the bold 
ruffians he had encountered during his short visit. 
The woods were very dense about the little house 
and men could hide in perfect safety right to the 
senor’s very door. Though there had been no new 
move in the preceding three days it might very well 
be that his host’s enemies were waiting for the de¬ 
parture of his friend before again attacking Bon 
Villon. The soldier rode slowly along the path, ill 
at ease, and wishing that he had remained a day 
longer with the Spaniard. An owl hooted in the 
thick branches and made him start nervously. An¬ 
gry at himself, he stopped his horse, searched out 
the owl on a limb and shot him. The bird clung 
to the limb with one foot, then fell to the ground 
at the side of the path. 

“The devil!” said Karet to himself. “I’m a fool 
today.” 

He rammed another load into his pistol and con¬ 
tinued on his way unconscious of the fact that 
Ocase Mataha’s evil malevolent eyes had watched 
him kill the owl and followed him out of sight be¬ 
fore resuming his noiseless way through the woods. 


196 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Riding along slowly, Karet pondered various ex¬ 
cuses that might admit him to the home of the 
bandit he loathed and intended to capture. Was 
it possible that it had been only three days since he 
had seen her? Then, he had been tormented with 
the certainty that Bon Villon was her lover. Poof, 
—that had been imagination. How silly of him to 
jump at conclusions. The way was now clear for 
him. But was it? There was yet her husband. He 
cringed at the thought of that odious half-breed, 
reeking with crime and bloody deeds. Bon Villon 
had told him in detail of the circumstances of Sa¬ 
bine’s entanglement with the Indian. He knew also 
that she felt herself bound forever by the vows she 
had made, and all at once seemed as far away and 
unattainable as she had ever been. 

A woman’s frightened scream shattered the quiet 
of the woods. It disrupted the sergeant’s thoughts. 
He listened—Again it pierced the silence. A scream 
of fear and pain. That voice— 

"God!” Karet breathed almost as a prayer, and 
putting spurs to his horse, dashed down the path 
in the direction of the Indian’s cabin. 

Torn and bruised from low hanging limbs, he 
reached the clearing about the cabin and was hor¬ 
rified to see Sabine struggling in the arms of one 
man, while another twisted and pulled her hand. 
She saw him as soon as he dashed out of the woods, 
but so busy were the villians, that he was right upon 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


197 


them before they knew it. His sword plowed its 
way through the body of one of them. With a 
terrific yell he fell to the ground. The other one 
released Sabine and darted toward a large tree. 

Karet rushed after the second assailant, firing as 
he went, but dodging from tree to tree the fleeing 
man made good his escape. The sergeant returned 
to Sabine and found her bending over the prostrate 
form of the bleeding man, trying to turn him over 
on his back. She arose as Karet bent over her, beg¬ 
ging to know if she was hurt. When he saw her 
little bruised hand, he started to run the man 
through a second time but she caught his arm. 

"No, sergeant, don’t. He is dying. See, he 
scarcely breathes. Turn him over and I will get 
some water.” 

She ran into the house for a cup of water which 
the man drank slowly in painful gulps. He opened 
his eyes and Karet saw he was conscious, though dy¬ 
ing fast. He bent over him. 

"Who are you?” 

The white lips moved but no sound came from 
them. 

"Speak, if you would do one good act before you 
die. Who are you?” 

"Jose,” came the whisper. 

"What did you want here?” 

"Ring,” he murmured, looking at Sabine. 

"Who was with you?” 


198 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"A stranger named Bellaco who—” 

Karet leaned closer. The lips moved, but only his 
breath rustled through; again the lips twisted to 
form the words, "Priest Cingaro, ,, —and was dead. 

Sabine stood up, very pale. 

"My ring! What did they want with my ring?” 
she said more to herself than to Monsieur Karet. 

"It is strange,” he answeerd, standing close beside 
her. He wondered if this new problem had any 
connection with the attack on Bon Villon, but dis¬ 
missed the idea as absurd. 

"Bellaco and the priest Cingaro,” he said, turning 
to Sabine. 

"Did he say priest Cingaro? Ah, surely no holy 
father could be connected with a thing like this.” 

"Cingaro? That name sounds familiar to me. 
Ah, I do remember!” His face darkened. "The 
sanctimonious villian! He is a crippled priest, Sa¬ 
bine, who stays at Smith’s tavern.” He spoke her 
name as naturally as he had in his thoughts since 
first he had learned what it was. 

Sabine felt a thrill at the sound of her name on 
his soft voice. Then she remembered for the first 
time that Ocase was not far away. He had gone 
to the cave in the woods where he stored his booty 
after one of his raids. She was not sure how long 
he would be away, and knowing that a meeting of 
her husband and the soldier must end disastrously, 
she hurriedly thanked the seregant for his timely 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


199 


help and begged him to leave. Karet, thrilled and 
satisfied in her presence, protested that it would be 
really unsafe to leave her. The other villain might 
return, but Sabine was far more frightened at the 
thought of Ocase and Karet meeting than at an¬ 
other attack from the man in the woods. She showed 
him her little pistol, a present from Bon Villon, and 
Ocase’s big bloodhound now chained in the house, 
to protect her. 

Seeing the real distress in her blue eyes Karet con¬ 
sented to go. 

"Madame, I shall always take joy in doing what 
you ask, but promise me you will ride over to Senor 
Bon Villon’s if your husband is late in coming. 

Sabine gave him her promise with a soft look that 
thrilled him. 

"Of a truth you are a charming person, mon¬ 
sieur,” she said as he bent to kiss her swollen hand. 
"What a pity that you are a police spy and upon so 
hopeless a case.” 

"Hopeless cases are my delight, Madame Blue 
Eyes, and I shall not fail of my task in the Dolettes.” 

The firm set of his mouth and the determined 
look in his eyes gave Sabine a glimpse of the strong 
character, usually hidden by his gay, flippant man¬ 
ner. 

"I fear monsieur is a boaster.” 

"Ah, I see. Then, naturally, madame, I must 
prove my words, yes?” 


200 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"I would not deign to waste my time trying it 
if I were you, monsieur,” she advised with charm¬ 
ing sang froid and a teasing smile in her eyes. 

"Madame is kind, but I have said I shall and I 
will. I go now with the assurance you will keep 
your promise, so, bon soir, madame ” 

He bowed low, mounted his horse and rode back 
down the path. He was if possible, more intrigued 
with Sabine as a coquette, than he had been with 
her other cool unapproachable self. A natural phi¬ 
landerer himself, he felt, in the presence of her 
bright personality and provoking indifference, the 
same floundering helplessness he had so often caused 
in others. In the solitude of the woods he was learn¬ 
ing to know himself better than he would ever have 
done in New Orleans or Paris, as silent places are 
often perfect mirrors for our inner selves. He rode 
in sight of Senor Bon Villon’s house just as the senor 
was pushing pen and ink aside to seal a laige 
envelope. 

Glancing through the window, Bon Villon was 
surprised to see his late caller returning so soon, but 
as ever the perfect host he greeted Karet as though 
he had not seen him for a month. He ordered 
Mulatto to put up the sergeant’s horse. Karet at 
once with his usual impulsiveness related in detail 
all that had occurred that morning. 

When Karet had finished Bon Villon strode up 
and down the room, his black eyes flashing. All 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


201 


his vague suspicions of the past weeks suddenly 
crystallized. The dead Jose must be the villian who 
had attempted to kill him near the San Miguel, and 
at whom Guydo had shot. Sabine’s attackers were, 
in all probability, the same who had attempted to 
enter his home and been foiled by Karet’s timely 
warning. And they were after Sabine’s ring! Evi¬ 
dently he and Sabine were closely connected in the 
mind of the priest Cingaro, who was of course the 
moving force behind the series of attacks. 

Karet saw that his friend was far more troubled 
by this attack on Sabine than he had been over 
his own narrow escape a few nights before. His 
thoughts turned again to Sabine, the innocent vic¬ 
tim of the mysterious intrigue that seemed to center 
around Bon Villon. He wanted to start at once to 
trace the intrigue to its source and would have done 
so, had Bon Villon said the word. 

"Sergeant,” said the Spaniard, stopping in his 
walk, "I will have to put a stop to these attacks. As 
long as it was I alone they were after, I felt I could 
wait a favorable time, but since they have set upon 
Sabine, I shall not stop until I catch the damned 
rascals. But that reminds me, I must not wait for 
Ocase to go home, he is frequently away for days.” 

Bon Villon took a large horn from where it hung 
on the wall and, standing in the window, blew 
three long, loud blasts that echoed and re-echoed 
from the hills. Then he stood listening. Almost 


202 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


instantly the report of a pistol shot came faintly to 
their ears. 

Taking up the long envelope he had sealed so 
carefully Bon Villon turned to the soldier. 

"Monsieur Karet, I am going to ask a favor of 
you, one that will be of great service to me. I 
wish you to deliver this packet into the hands of 
Senorita Marcelena Sepulvedor upon your return to 
Spanish Town. I hope, however, you will stay 
here a few days and help me, for I am now fully 
resolved to unravel this tangled mystery and two 
heads may be more effective than one.” 

"Ah, senor, you express my earnest desire now. 
I will deliver the packet to the senorita in all safety, 
and take great pleasure in serving you in this 
singular and mysterious affair which is threaten¬ 
ing you. Judging from what that rascal said today, 
the priest Cingaro will be our staring point. Faugh! 
I remember his pale woman face and, Mon Dieu! 
the saintly dog shall answer to me for this attack 
on the beautiful little madame.” 

"One further favor, sergeant, I shall have to ask 
of you. My horn is summoning Ocase Mataha who 
will be here in a few moments. May I ask that you 
do not arrest or molest him until after we have 
solved this mystery? The Indian knows the woods 
hereabouts as no other person, and further more is 
partially acquainted with the events of my life lead¬ 
ing up to the present attacks.” 

Sergeant Karet hastened to assure his friend that 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


203 


pending the settlement of the problem before them, 
he would make no effort to capture the bandit 
chief. He, too, realized the tremendous help which 
the Indian’s knowledge of the country and his 
ability at shadowing, would be to them. 

"Then, sergeant, will you excuse me for a few 
moments while I go and confer with Ocase.” 

Leaving the house, Bon Villon hurried to the old 
oak which was a prearranged place for their meet¬ 
ings. 

"Well, Cap, what’s up that you send for me?” 
the Indian asked in the gutteral voice of his 
mother’s people. 

Quickly Bon Villon informed Ocase of the re¬ 
peated attempts on his own life, and gave a de¬ 
scription of the attack on Sabine and the attempted 
theft of her ring. At the Spaniard’s mention of 
Sergeant Karet and his part in the defense of Sabine, 
the half-breed’s snake-like eyes glittered. He 
shrugged his shoulders at Bon Villon’s warning to 
guard his wife very closely. 

"Don’t worry about my squaw, Cap, they’re not 
after her, it’s you they want. Send over for my 
dog, I don’t think the rascals will kill him, I’ll set 
my men trailing the priest.” 

Bon Villon returned to the house while the In¬ 
dian slouched noiselessly off through the woods. 

Resuming their plans the Spaniard and Karet de¬ 
cided to wait for a report from Ocase before mak¬ 
ing any further move. 


XV. 


The next day after dinner while Karet and Bon 
Villon sat in earnest discussion of their plans, they 
were surprised to see Sabine step out of the woods 
and come toward the house. She hesitated a moment 
at sight of Monsieur Karet. The sergeant’s heart 
began to pound, his pulse to throb, he was actually 
to see her again—to hear her voice—to be near her! 
He breathed an invocation to the Deity—he won¬ 
dered how Bon Villon could be so calm, take it as 
an ordinary occurrence—this visit from her! Sabine 
shook hands with Bon Villon, acknowledged the 
sergeant’s courtly bow, then took her seat on the 
door-steps. 

"I hope I’m not intruding on you gentlemen,” she 
smiled, refusing to sit in the chairs they offered. 

''Indeed not! You couldn’t have selected a better 
time, la nina.” Bon Villon hastened to assure her. 

Monsier Karet politely, if reluctantly, excused 
himself, picked a Gazette from a table in the house 
and went out the back way. He seated himself in 
the shade of a large magnolia on the bank of the 
bayou, not to read, but to fret and fume at being 


204 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


205 


exiled from the presence of his adored one. The 
light in the sky was growing dim as he looked up 
to see dark thunder heads obscuring the sun. Too 
well bred to intrude he remained outside, though 
he longed with all the intensity of his impetuous 
Gallic nature to be near this woman of his dreams. 
All his old jealousy of Bon Villon rose to torment 
him. How could the senor keep from loving such 
a woman? Ah, and how could she resist such looks 
and manliness as was the senor’s? The thought was 
agony to him and unable longer to sit, he walked 
back and forth beneath the trees. 

After an age, it seemed to Karet, he saw Sabine 
and Bon Villon come out of the house and go down 
the litle path. They stopped a minute to scan the 
dark, threatening clouds, then walked more hur¬ 
riedly and disappeared in the woods. 

The exciting events of the last few days were be¬ 
ginning to tell on Monsieur Karet as he waited in 
the increasing darkness, and listened to the distant 
muttering of thunder. He grew uneasy and de¬ 
cided to go down the path to meet Bon Villon. He 
hastened into the nearly dark forest where the trees 
seemed to close in with ever more intricate tangles, 
the further he went. 

A blinding flash of lightning revealed the whole 
panorama of trees and tangled vines, followed by a 
peal of thunder, which rolled echoing and re¬ 
echoing, through the still woods. A few big drops 


206 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


of rain splashed through the trees and struck the 
sergeant in the face, but with a terrible feeling of 
uneasiness stalking at his side. Sinister shadows of 
unknown dangers lurched behind trees and hid in 
the tangle of vines and fallen logs at the side of the 
lonely trail. So real was this uncanny feeling that 
at last, when another flash of lightning revealed 
Bon Villon striding along the path toward him, 
great beads of sweat burst out on the Frenchman’s 
forehead. He stopped to get his breath while the 
senor came on, was just ready to hail him, when sud¬ 
denly there was a whirl and swish through the 
air, and an illuminating flash of lightning showed 
Bon Villon struggling in the coils of a rope as two 
men leaped down the trail and grabbed him. Karet 
started forward, blinded by the lightning, he 
stumbled, caught with his hands, and raced on. He 
reached the spot and threw himself, pounding and 
beating, upon one of the men. Suddenly, from 
behind, he was struck a blow on the head that made 
him stagger, and the earth sank beneath him. 

After a while he opened his eyes to find the rain 
beating in his face and a gruff voice coming out 
of the storm said, "Well, my fine sergeant, are you 
coming back to life?” 

Karet raised up, but fell back again with the 
pain in his head. 

"Who are you?” he asked. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


207 


"Chief Ocase Mataha!” the Indian answered, sur¬ 
veying the Frenchman grimly. 

"You!” yelled Karet above the roar of the wind 
and the storm. 

"Yes. And a surprising business for you to be 
lying there knocked in the head.” 

"The senor, where is Senor Bon Villon? Dog 
that you are to take the senor and then strike me 
from behind.” 

Karet got unsteadily to his feet. 

"Ough! You sniveling squaw. I strike no man 
from behind.” 

"But where is Bon Villon?” again demanded 
Karet. 

"I guess in his nest by this time.” 

ff Dtable, no! Did you not see them drag him 
away?” 

The half-breed’s cool manner changed at once. 

"Why, what’s up? Anything wrong with Cap?” 

"Wrong! He was roped here like a wild bull. 
The last I saw of him he was tied and struggling. 
Then I was struck from behind and that is all I 
know.” 

The Indian’s face darkened and a knowing look 
flashed from his black eyes. He dropped to his 
knees to examine the ground but the rain had 
washed out all signs of struggle. 

"Ough! Not even Wolf could trail them now,” 


208 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


he grunted rising and shaking the rain from him 
like a dog. 

Sergeant Karet swore he would dive into the 
forest and stumble upon some sign of the attackers, 
but the chief shook his head. 

"It would do no good. If you wish to help the 
Cap, go to his house, secure his papers and money, 
unchain Wolf and wait for me.” 

Karet looked into the eagle eye of the half-breed 
and felt he could trust him so far as Bon Villon 
was concerned. 

"When will you come?” 

"At day break.” 

"You will not fail?” 

Ocase’s eyes flashed angrily at the sergeant but, 
without deigning a rpely, he turned and strode 
through the woods. 

The gale had passed and white clouds were scud¬ 
ding along the sky. A dull orange light burned in 
the west where the shrouded sun had passed away 
and left a rose color through the tree tops and on 
the carpet of wet pine needles that slushed under 
the tread of th’e Indian as he passed out of sight. 

Karet, wet and disheartened, made his way 
through the wind swept woods back to the lonely 
home of his friend. In less than an hour he had 
reached the little clearing. A sleepy mocking bird 
twitted in the vines, and a horned owl gave a loud 
squall and flapped its wings from an old elm tree. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


209 


The house was dark and silent, Mulatto and Liza 
were no doubt in bed and asleep. Happy negroes, 
thought Karet, so easily made happy; Christians 
every one of them, from the octoroon to the full 
blooded African, naturally trustful and easy to con¬ 
vince and convert. Destitute of inventive germs or 
creative inspirations, they were copyists and fol¬ 
lowers of beaten paths. 

Wolf, at the approach of the sergeant, growled 
coarse and ugly. Rearing against his chains, he 
resembled a tall hairy man in the starlight. Scent¬ 
ing the air he gave a glad yelp of recognition as the 
Frenchman came up. 

"Good fellow, fine dog,” he said, stooping to un¬ 
buckle the collar setting the dog free to guard his 
master’s property. 

Karet then knocked loudly at the door to arouse 
the sleeping negroes, whose sonorous breathing he 
could hear coming from the loft, but they were 
hard to awaken. He knocked again, louder, then 
shook the door till it rattled on its hinges. At this 
the slumbering servants woke and their stercora- 
tions ceased. 

"Who dat?” came a voice from the loft. 

"It is I, Mulatto. Let me in.” 

"Who is I? We’s got to know who dat is rum¬ 
magin’ roun dis time er night.” 

"You damned fool! Open this door quick, do 
you hear?” 


210 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"Lord! Dat’s Marse K’ret. I nevber s’picioned 
it was you. Yas suh, I’se comin! ,, He was down in 
a minute and had the door opened. "Sho! didn’t 
know twas you, Marse K’ret. Wait, honey, whilst 
I blow up dese coals.” 

Sergeant Karet stood in the dark room while 
Mulatto piled on lightwood and splinters that soon 
made a blazing fire. A cheerful sight it was on this 
wet night. 

"Mercy, honey, you’se wet ez er rat. Dat’s 
zackly why I mistook your voice, hits wet too,” 
grinned Mulatto and scratched his wooly head, 
yawning sleepily. "Whar Marse Villon at?” 

"I don’t know, Mulatto.” 

"Can’t say when he’s likely ter drap home?” 

"No, I cannot. I fear he is in great danger from 
the same devils who were after him the other night.” 
Then he explained to the scared negro what had 
happened. 

"My Lawd, Marse K’ret! Oh, Lawdy, Liza, I 
knowed dey wuz sot agin him. Liza, cum down 
fum dat loft and get on yer knees and ax de good 
Lawd to ’liver my pore chile frum de hands uv de 
Philistines.” 

Here he broke down, blubbering and moaning as 
he prayed aloud. Liza came down with white, 
rolling eyes and joined in the lamentations. 

Karet sat regarding the negroes pityingly. He 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


211 


could give them very little consolation about their 
master or find any for himself. 

"Come, Mulatto, you and Liza, your master will 
get through all right. If you wish to help him, get 
up.” 

They rose, their eyes red with weeping. 

"Show me where your master keeps his papers” 
said Karet rising. 

Mulatto pointed out a cabinet of numerous draw¬ 
ers. The sergeant explored the cabinet thoroughly 
and took out all the papers and gold coin he found. 
These he made into a package which he locked in a 
metal box and hid in a hollow tree down by the 
bayou. Returning to the house, he sent the negroes 
back to bed and sat by the fire thinking. The more 
he pondered the worse matters looked, and he de¬ 
cided to forego all idea of arresting Ocase until Bon 
Villon was found. No one knew this wild country 
as did the Indian who looked as though he would 
tear up the earth for the "Cap.” 

Burdened with anxiety about his friend, Sergeant 
Karet sat for hours before the fire, his mind going 
back to the attack and dwelling upon possible solu¬ 
tions of the mystery. The fire died out, his head 
drooped and he was asleep. 

Mulatto’s voice roused him and he looked out 
at the dawn of another day. Liza had breakfast 
ready and the horses were at the door, awaiting the 
arrival of the outlaw chief. 


XVI. 


Monsieur Karet ate his breakfast hurriedly by 
candlelight, then began to pace the floor, heels 
thumping and spurs jingling to his quick, nervous 
steps. Pausing often to glance through the open 
door, he saw the morning star, avant-coureur of 
the greater sun and herald of his near approach, 
wane then disappear, and still the Indian did not 
come. The sergeant was in an ugly mood for one 
of his easy disposition. He was regretting that he 
had made no effort to locate the senor the night be¬ 
fore as he had wished to do, and for trusting all to 
the wily half-breed. 

"Hell and damnation!” he swore in dusgust at 
himself, as stamping out of the house he walked 
rapidly to the bank of the little bayou where he con¬ 
tinued to pace back and forth like a hungry panther. 

Mulatto watched the sergeant’s rising anger with 
rolling white eyes. 

"Dat solger sho’ is spilin’ fer er fight. Guess I 
bettah go long ter de crib an finish shuckin’ dat 
cawn.” 

Karet paused in his tirade to watch some sportive 
212 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


213 


top-waters as they played around the mossy green 
cypress knees in the blue water of the bayou. A 
large trout flapped to the surface, scattering the 
fantastic shadows mirrored there by the morning 
light which fell through the long Spanish moss 
hanging from the trees overhead. 

"Scoundrel, rascal, what the hell’s keeping him?” 

The fish scudded down out of sight at the noise 
on the bank and Karet looked up straight into the 
cold, black eyes of the Indian. 

"Ough! The scoundrel is here, monsieur.” 

"You heard what I said and I consider no ex¬ 
planation necessary,” the sergeant answered, look¬ 
ing the half-breed in the eye, his own now dark and 
flashing. 

Above all things on earth Ocase admired bravery 
the most. 

"Damn what you think of me. It’s the Cap I’m 
worried about, we can settle our affairs later.” 

The Indian’s words were low but distinct. He 
was cold blooded and more patient than the impul¬ 
sive Frenchman, and could wait his time. Monsieur 
Karet turned pale in spite of his effort at self con¬ 
trol. 

"You are right about that, the senor first, 
then—” 

Ocase looked at him with contempt. In his mind 
he was just an insignificant Frenchman, useful to¬ 
day, tomorrow, ough!— 


214 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"I am ready to start. What is your plan?” 

"I have sent carriers all over the country and dis¬ 
patched two of my men to the landing at Natchi¬ 
toches to halt the priest’s escape there.” 

Ocase’s interest was quickening. He loved a man 
hunt. Though his harsh gutteral voice did not 
change his eyes were snapping. 

"That seems a good start,” Karet answered, look¬ 
ing less viciously at the Indian. "But explain what 
we are to do and let us get at it.” 

"Huh, no time to explain. Let’s ride.” 

Ocase turned abruptly and gave a shrill whistle 
which was answered by Lebo and Lebat who dashed 
out of the woods on their horses, leading Antoine 
for Ocase. Karet lost no time in securing his horse 
from where it had stood since day light and dashed 
off to overtake the three riding ahead. The plight 
of his friend had swept things out of his hands for 
the time being, and, though it was galling to his 
pride as a man as well as a sergeant in the United 
States army with orders from the governor to cap¬ 
ture these very men. He had to submit to circum¬ 
stances now, for these men were more valuable in 
this search than all the soldiers at the fort. 

At Ocase’s orders the whole country was being 
scoured. From Bayou Pierre to San Patrecio and 
the San Miguel, the settlers were aroused and join¬ 
ing in the hunt. All day long they searched through 
swamps, over hills and in all the out of way places 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


215 


known to the gang. Monsieur Karet acted as one 
of them, and skirmished with more persistance if 
not with as much power of endurance as they, there¬ 
by winning their respect at least. Late in the eve¬ 
ning of the first day they rode into Spanish Town 
and dismounted at the tavern. 

As he walked into the barroom, Fellisse spied him 
from her place behind the bar. She grew rosy with 
pleasure at his return and her chubby hands trem¬ 
bled as she poured the drink he ordered. 

"Monsieur has been away a long time, travelling 
constantly, and is tres fatigue, yes?” 

Her words were spoken sweetly while coupled 
with arch glances as she handed him another drink. 

"Viola! Sergeant, are you ill?” 

"Non, ma fille, I am distracted with fear and 
uneasiness for my friend, Senor Bon Villon.” 

"Oui, oui, I have heard of his mysteriou disap¬ 
pearance. He was so handsome. It is terrible.” 

She watched Karet closely, hoping for some sign 
of jealousy, but she was disappointed. He had al¬ 
ready forgotten her existence in anxiety and plans 
for the search next day. 

Soon after he had dined he went off to his room, 
and early next morning rejoined the others in the 
woods. They were all present save Slim, whom the 
chief had sent to the Bayou Pierre settlement several 
days before, and Handsome Bill, one of Ocase’s 
favorites. Neither Slim nor Handsome had put in 


216 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


an appearance this morning. This had put the In¬ 
dian in a dark humor, and his men felt relieved 
when he sent them in different directions before he 
himself rode away with Lebo. They had learned to 
keep their distance when the swarthy face of the 
Indian looked as it did this morning. 

Monsieur Karet and his party skirted the Dolette 
Hills until they came to a trail leading from Bayou 
Pierre across the Chama Bayou, a very boggy 
stream with cypress trees and their knees growing 
thickly along its edges. The adjacent land, com¬ 
posed entirely of cane and cypress brake, was low 
and swampy. Karet wondered at the vast number 
of turtles to be seen on every fallen log and stump 
in the mud and water. The sun poured fire on the 
steaming swamp, and aligators and snakes basked 
their scaly hides in its hot rays. The horses sloshed 
slowly along in the mud, spattering their riders 
until finally emerging on the hills, they made their 
way at a faster gait than the bottoms and canebrakes 
would permit. Keen eyes pierced through thick 
woods and down hills. At last one of the men called 
the sergeant’s attention to some vultures sitting on 
the limbs of a dead tree just ahead. 

Karet looked in the direction indicated and saw 
some of the repulsive birds perched on the tree, 
while others congregated around something on the 
ground. The carcas of some wild animal was Joe 
Sohone’s comment. The men drew near and the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


217 


vultures rose, circling overhead, impatient to finish 
their feast, balancing in the air and craning their 
rusty, wrinkled necks at the intruders. 

Joe rode up slightly ahead of the others but 
stopped suddenly and gasped at the sight that met 
his eyes. The others advanced and Karet peered 
around to see what made them stare so. 

"Holy saints!” he whispered, and sat still for a 
long moment, staring in speechless horror. 

"Get down, sergeant, you saw the senor last, and 
see if this looks like him,” said Joe Sohone. 

Karet, dismounting slowly, advanced to the body. 
The face had been eaten off and only the bare, 
bloody bones were left. Lipless teeth shone as though 
in a horrible grin and clotted locks of black hair 
hung to the slick, white skull. Could this ever have 
been the proud, handsome Bon Villon? The body as 
yet was unmolested and the clothes those the Span¬ 
iard had worn the day he was captured. His gold 
seal ring was on the left hand where he had always 
worn it. 

Karet turned and went back to his horse. The 
men lifted the body carefully, covered it with a 
saddle blanket and strapped tightly one one of the 
horses. 

"Be gentle, boys,” choked Sergeant Karet, his 
head bowed on his saddle. Until now he had never 
realized how near like a brother the brave, kind 
hearted Bon Villon had become to him. To be 


218 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


thrown together in this wild country so full of 
danger to them both, yet with greater promise of 
happiness than all civilization could offer, had 
cemented their friendship more closely in this short 
time than years would have done under different 
circumstances. 

As the party started on the twenty mile ride over 
hills and swamps to Spanish Town there was not a 
murmur from the rough men. They wondered what 
their chief would do when he saw the corpse and 
the perpetrators of the crime not at hand on whom 
he could vent his revenge. 

Karet sent messengers for Marcel Desoto, the 
magistrate, and for Father Pavie. He was going to 
see that his friend was buried in a manner due him. 
At a late hour they rode into Spanish Town where 
the other searching parties were waiting to hear 
the outcome of the days search. Chief Ocase was 
the first to see them and learn the news but was not 
satisfied until he had examined the gruesome re¬ 
mains. After being thoroughly convinced that the 
priest had accomplished his purpose at last, he rose 
and pulled his large slouch hat farther over his face. 
The black eyes gleamed in his swarthy face and 
without a word he strode away into the woods. 

All the fort was aroused over the foul murder of 
Senor Bon Villon, who had grown to be a familiar 
figure in Spanish Town. Men of all classes whom 
he would never have dreamed of as friends, came 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


219 


to show that they were such and to pay their last 
respects. The magistrate, accompanied by good 
Father Pavie, arrived and entered into the formality 
of an inquest at which he identified the body by 
the ring before turning it over to the friends of 
the deceased. 

Sabine was there and, at their earnest pleadings to 
be present at Marse Villon’s funeral, had brought 
Mulatto and Liza with her. Karet’s heart ached 
for the beautiful, weeping girl and he longed to take 
her in his arms and comfort her, but not even he 
could understand what a loss this death was to her. 

To the funeral also came Marcelena Sepulvedor 
and her brother Guydo. Present ostensibly as a 
token of respect for the man who had saved her 
from a panther, she hid behind her set white face 
a heart that beat with suffocating anguish. Bon 
Villon had won her love. Her every heart-beat 
had been for him. That last meeting—Oh, God— 
if only she could bring back that day! Thoughts 
of it were driving her mad! What a dreary thing 
was life! Pride alone, kept her dark lovely face 
calm and still and sad. 

Seeing her among the friends gathered to honor 
the dead, Sergeant Karet went to her and, in a whis¬ 
per, told her of Bon Villon’s last request of him, and 
delivered to her the letter. With trembling fingers 
Marcelena received it and tucked it inside her dress. 

Just in the moment before the crowd left for the 


220 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


burying ground a stooped old woman slid down 
from a small pony and hobbled into the inn. 

"The witch! 'The old witch of Bayou Pierre!” 
ran the whisper as the shrivelled Madame Lisso 
hobbled across the floor toward the coffin. Some 
of the gathering moved away from her as she passed 
them muttering, "Ough, ouch, me pore chile. An 
I must see him, out, out. To think I should live to 
see this!” 

Sergeant Karet stepped forward and advised her 
not to look into the coffin. 

"I must see him, I will see him wid me pore ole 
eyes. I must see him, out, out” 

Pushing by the sergeant she crept close to the 
coffin. Catching hold of the lid she pulled it back. 
Sabine moaned and covered her eyes, while Karet 
turned and walked to the door. Madame Lisso 
fumbled around the corpse, mumbling all the time, 
until, finally satisfied, she replaced the lid and 
hobbled back to her granddaughter’s side as the 
screws tightened and the coffin was carried out. 
Behind it filed the group of mourners. 

Only Sabine, Madame Lisso and Sergeant Karet 
were left. As the Frenchman turned to close the 
little procession Madame Lisso put a bleak, skeleton 
hand upon his arm. 

"Wait, me son. I have a word to tell you.” 

Drawing him a little aside from Sabine she whis- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


221 


pered in his ear. Sergeant Karet’s features changed 
from grief to incredulity, then to relief, and joy. In 
astonishment he gazed into the old woman’s face. 

"Why, you are a witch!” he said in a reverent 
tone. 

Madame Lisso smiled. 

"Let tha funeral go on, an atterwards do as I bid 
ye. Git, now, an lave tne wid ma leetle darter.” 

With a last wondering look Karet bowed to 
Sabine and her grandmother, then, with a lighter 
heart than he had known for the preceding forty - 
hear than he had known for the preceding forty- 
eight hours, he joined the procession on its way to 
the cemetery. 


XVII. 


With a stifled sigh of relief Marcelena at last 
escaped to the privacy of her room and closed the 
door behind her. The evening had seemed inter¬ 
minable, and, as she put her candle upon her little 
desk she felt almost at the end of her strength. To 
be at the funeral of the man she had loved and 
forced to maintain a calm, immobile face when her 
heart was breaking, had been a strain, a strain not 
lessened when Sergeant Karet had handed her a little 
packet with the whispered words, "The day before 
his death Senor Bon Villon asked me to deliver you 
this.” Afterward had come the long ride home 
with Guydo and the effort to carry on with him 
an easy, casual conversation. 

At home there had been the questions of her 
father and mother, questions she had to answer in 
the same carefully impersonal manner, with the 
same calmness of voice and face. After supper 
came the usual routine of life with its domestic 
duties, the long evening in the candlelight, when 
every moment her heart was longing for solitude 
that she might be alone with her grief. And 


222 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


223 


through all those long hours she had been conscious 
of the packet pressed next the heavy, painful beat¬ 
ing of her heart. 

Marcelena dropped into the chair before her little 
desk and with fingers that trembled drew forth the 
packet and gazed at the superscription: "To Seno- 
rita Marcelena Sepulvedor.” How like Bon Villon 
himself were the firm, upright letters of his neat, 
clear script. She broke the seals and began to read: 
fr Querida: 

This letter will be delivered to you by our mutual 
friend, Monsieur Karet Broussard, at his earliest op¬ 
portunity. I will not try here to tell you, querida, 
how I love you or how your sweet presence has in¬ 
vaded every thought of my life—all the rest of my 
days shall be devoted to that. But I think you 
should know my life as I have lived it before com¬ 
ing to Louisiana. And I take this opportunity to 
explain certain matters that have put me in a doubt¬ 
ful position. 

Senorita, my wild flower of Louisiana, I will say 
little of my great grand parents. I will state only 
that they left an only son, my grandfather Philip 
Estebo, whose profession was the Manufacturer of 
a steel which gained everywhere a remarkable repu¬ 
tation for is peculiar temper. My grand-father 
took good advantage of this and early in life ac¬ 
cumulated a fortune. At the age of thirty-five his 
wife died, leaving him a rich, childless widower. He 


224 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


then married a widowed lady from Madrid, the only 
daughter of the wealthy nobleman, Don Hedurga. 
To them were born two sons, the eldest, my father, 
Don Marcos Estebo, the second, the son of his old 
age, Don Ricardo Estebo, ten year younger than my 
father. At the death of his father-in-law, my 
grandfather inherited the Hedurga fortune and be¬ 
came one of Spain’s wealthiest citizens. He lived in 
the Hedurga castle, a magnificent structure of mas¬ 
sive towers, balconied windows and porticoes, fur¬ 
nished with all the elegance that money could pro¬ 
cure. 

At the death of my grand-father the estate was 
equally divided between the two brothers. Don 
Marcos, my father, keen, successful and a natural 
commercial genius, inherited the industry and fi¬ 
nanciering traits of his father and, by adding in¬ 
terest after interest to his estate, doubled his fortune 
in a few years. He was equally successful in the 
choice of a wife, a sweet French demoiselle . There 
were three children in our happy family, a younger 
brother Benito, myself, and little Juanita our baby 
sister, the pet and darling of the family. 

My uncle, Don Ricardo, was the exact opposite 
of my father. He was cruel, revengeful, and had a 
most vindictive disposition. I remember as a child 
to have felt in his presence the stifling darkness of 
a black room. My uncle hated us even as children, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


225 


and we were ever on the watch for fear he would 
invent some new trick or cruelty to practice on us. 
My father’s example and advice was disregarded by 
his young brother whose entire lack of self respect 
and depravity of disposition gave him much worry 
and anxiety. Regardless of this Ricardo plunged 
into vices of all kinds, and with gambling, drunken¬ 
ness and fast horses, his great wealth was soon gone, 
leaving him comparatively poor at the early age of 
twenty-five. Then there occurred angry scenes 
between him and my father when he demanded 
money to settle his heavy debts. These demands 
were met many times only to be squandered, until 
in time, the kindness of my father was so outraged 
by his low, worthless brother that he refused to 
help him more, and there came a final break. 

The scene was a violent one. Don Ricardo, with 
distorted, angry face and gleaming eyes, would 
have murdered my father if he had not been for- 
stalled by a blow that felled him and fractured his 
leg against my father’s writing desk. Ricardo was 
afterwards carried to his apartments and there con¬ 
fined several months. Don Marcos, who sadly de¬ 
plored the circumstance, nursed and cared for him. 

Don Ricardo recovered but had a permanently 
crippled leg. He heaped curses upon my father, 
Don Marcos, and swore to be revenged upon him 
and all his family. My uncle disappeared suddenly 
and it was more than a year before my father 


226 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


learned, greatly to his astonishment, that he had 
become a priest in the Catholic church. 

After the death of my mother Don Marcos de¬ 
cided to travel. Leaving his children and business 
in good hands, he left Spain for a protracted visit 
to America, from where he wrote of New Orleans, 
describing in detail the delightful atmosphere of the 
city created by it’s luxury loving slave-holders. 
Rich, handsome, and with the best social credentials, 
he was welcomed everywhere. The ravishing Creole 
Belles made life so enchanting for him that, for a 
while, he was seemingly forgetful of his native 
Spain. He wrote later of trips into the distant 
settlements, where he hunted and fished with the 
Indians. 

Near one of these Indian villages lived a white 
settler with his wife and beautiful daughter whom 
Don Marcos met one day while hunting. Charmed 
by the haunting eyes and lovely face of the rustic 
demoiselle, he became a frequent viistor at the set¬ 
tler’s cabin, and in time the lover of the daughter. 
Months passed ere he felt the call to return to his 
home. Back in Spain he seemed happy and con¬ 
tented with us, but all the while was getting his 
business in shape to return to Louisiana. Finally he 
felt the time had arrived when I was competent to 
care for my brother and sister, and he could go 
back to America. He confided to me alone some 
of the events of his former trip there, his love for 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


227 


the settler’s daughter, and his hope that he could 
soon return with her to Spain. I remember how 
gay and dashing he was as he passed the days of wait¬ 
ing. It was late one evening that he noticed our 
house-keeper, Amanda in close conversation with 
a strange man. Her confusion when she found she 
was observed caused him to wonder, but he thought 
little of it until the next night when again he saw 
the stranger and Amanda walk to the gate together, 
and noticed that the man had a peculiar limp in his 
gait. Instantly suspicious he questioned Amanda, 
who weepingly declared the man was a cousin, and 
father, think he was over ready with his conclusions, 
relented. The net day, however, he allowed his ship 
to sail without him. 

A few nights later we were aroused by the serv¬ 
ants and told that Juanita was ill. Hurrying to her 
room we found her already in a dying condition. A 
physician was summoned, but our baby died, the 
cause of her death a mystery to the physician and 
to us. 

I shall not dwell on the shock and sorrow of her 
death, but Don Marcos postponed his trip indefi¬ 
nitely. One day several months later, my father 
and I returning from our office, observed walking 
ahead of us, a man and woman. The man walked 
with a peculiar hitch in his gait. Father looked an¬ 
noyed as he remarked to me, "That is Amanda and 
the same man she was with the day Juanita died.” 


228 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


I thought nothing of it at the time, but after¬ 
wards I was to remember that I had seen the man 
give Amanda a small package before he left her to 
limp across the street. That night my brother, 
Benito, died, and the examination of his stomach 
revealed a poison of strange, unknown substance. 
A cup containing some of it was found on the table. 
Our house-keeper had disappeared. 

This terrible experience aged Don Marcos far be¬ 
yond his years. His air turned gray and he was 
never again the gay Caballero. His clinging to me 
was pitiful. Ah, my poor father! Bending be¬ 
neath a load of grief and anxiety that I too would 
be carried off to fill another grave. Through it 
all, however, he never once gave up his intended 
voyage to America, and as soon as possible after 
Benito’s death, we began preparations to be off. 
Huge business interests were disposed of. Our trans¬ 
actions were carried on quietly and the money de¬ 
posited in the banks of England and New York. My 
father feared the enmity of the church whose ill 
will he had already incurred by his great wealth and 
infidelity. Our preparations completed for a secret 
departure, Don Marcos sat sunning one morning on 
a side portico when a woman fruit vendor passed. 
Among her fruits were grapes of which Don Marcos 
was very fond. Suspicious of everything, we never 
touched food that had not been examined, but 
father, for the moment, seemingly forgetful of 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


229 


danger, purchased a few, ate them, than called me 
to fetch him a drink of water. When I returned the 
fatal sickness was on him, and again the physicians 
labored in vain. My beloved father died soon after 
he was stricken. 

"Ricardo! Ricardo and Amanda have killed 
me!” was his last frenzied cry. I knew then, that 
he had all along suspected his brother. 

This made me the only living representative of 
our family with the exception of Ricardo whom I 
had not seen since I was a child, and who, by his 
crimes, had laid the Estebo name in the dust. Saint, 
devil, and unbelievable fact, my father’s own 
brother. 

At once I noticed a decided coolness in my 
friends. They dropped away until father’s faithful 
old attorney seemed the only one left, and it was to 
him I went to ask the reason. 

He took me by the hand and told me in his kindly 
way that I was looked upon with suspicion as the 
cause of the deaths in my family. 

"The civil authorities are at work on the case as 
are also the inquisitorial officers. You must leave 
Spain secretly my boy, as I have just learned you are 
in danger of arrest at any time. 

"I cannot leave in dishonor!” I told him. 

"But you must, Bon Villon. I am aware of your 
efforts to locate Ricardo. I know more about what 
has happened than you do yourself, but take my ad- 


230 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


vice and do not let another day find you in Madrid. 
You are rich, and that is no small consideration. Go 
before it is too late.” 

I bade my old friend farewell. I knew the cell 
of inquisitorial prison where witnesses were not al¬ 
lowed, and once there, forever there, or worse, to 
totter out in old age, fit only for the grave. "God! 
if a thing like this should happen to rob me of the 
power to avenge my murdered family and to clear 
my name—” I hurried faster and had reached the 
threshold of my home when I felt a touch on my 
arms. Wheeling I beheld a lone man standing 
beside me. 

"Are you Captain Bon Villon?” he asked in a 
strange gutteral voice. I had never seen an Ameri¬ 
can Indian but knew at once that he was one. 

"Dare to come nearer and V 11 convince you of 
my identity,” I answered as I drew my sword. 

"Does Captain Bon Villon take me for an assassin 
or an officer?” 

At this, I looked at him more closely. I saw a 
stout, dark man with crafty black eyes, a rather thin 
nose and not badly dressed. 

"A half-breed who uses good Spanish,” I thought. 
What can his business be with me? 

He seemed to read my thoughts. 

"I am your friend, Senor, I have important infor¬ 
mation for you.” 

"Speak then.” I replied, keeping my sword un- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 231 

sheathed and ready for use at his first show of 
treachery. 

"Well, Cap,” he replied familiarly. "I acci¬ 
dentally heard that you are about to be arrested. I 
believe you innocent and came to help you escape 
the inquisitorial law.” 

"Who are you?” I demanded. "If you are just 
playing for time I will run you through.” 

At this he rose eyes snapping, and spoke in a cool 
haughty voice. 

"I am Chief Ocase Mataha from Louisiana. I 
came to Madrid to learn something of my father. 
He was William Augustus Bowles and was once 
confined in the prison I would save you from. 
But—” with a shrug he turned as if to leave. 

"Am I to be arrested tonight?” 

"You are.” 

"Then I am going to trust you, Chief Ocase, but 
if you betray me—” 

He understood. And in a few minutes I was 
ready. 

"Where do we go?” I asked. 

"To the country first, then the nearest seaport.” 

We started, but on reaching the front entrance to 
the castle, ran squarely into several officers. I drew 
my sword to defend myself. 

"Seize him! Seize him!” was the cry as they 
closed in on us. One clutched my arm and I ran 
him through. I had intended to cut my way out, 


232 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


but Chief Ocase gave a whoop and began knocking 
them right and left with sledge hammer blows. 
Those who escaped his swift attack were too con¬ 
fused by his actions to follow us as the Indian cried, 
"Run for it, Cap!” 

We followed the course of the Mon-Zanoras, hid¬ 
ing by day, traveling by night until we reached the 
Tagus. There we hired a boat and made our way 
to Lisbon. Since then I have been in many places. 
At times I have been hot on the trail of Ricardo, 
only to have him disappear as if the earth had swal¬ 
lowed him up. It was in New Orleans that I dis¬ 
covered Amanda trailing me, so decided to change 
my tactics. I am all that stands between Ricardo 
and the Estebo riches—and he will go where I go. 
It had been my great desire to visit the scene of my 
father’s happy days in America, so when Chief 
Ocase proposed that we embark on a fast pirogue 
for the Bayou Pierre Settlement I came, knowing 
my enemies would follow. They have, and I look 
for quick developments, and hope with the help of 
Ocase to outwit Ricardo this time. 

I would not for the world entangle you in the 
meshes of my danger, dearest senorita, only I wish 
you to understand one who is devotedly yours for¬ 
ever, 


Bon Villon Estebo. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


233 


The last page of the letter rustled in her fingers 
as Marcelena’s eyes, black with tragedy, gazed into 
space—What a fool she’d been. The nobility and 
gratitude which prompted him to befriend the half- 
breed, Ocase, had been misconceived as partnership 
in crime. Yes, despite all that Guydo and Don 
Leona could say, she had halways felt, deep in her 
heart, that Bon Villon could not be the low ac¬ 
complice of the bandit chief. She had thought him 
the Spanish Gentleman he was, brave, grateful, lov¬ 
ing, loyal—loyal—. 

That day in the San Miguel Woods she had seen 
him holding Sabine’s hand and talking earnestly to 
her. Now, with the letter before her, the scales of 
jealousy fell from her eyes. What she had in¬ 
terpreted as love-making was undoubtely but some 
effort on Bon Villon’s part to advise Sabine in her 
misfortune; to aid her in her great trial as he had 
aided the Indian Chief, out of gratitude for his help 
in his escape from Spain. Yes, she realized now she 
had been hasty, worse, she had been cruel that day 
he had come to her at the bayou—Yes cruel and un¬ 
just for she had not explained, nor had she given 
the senor opportunity to know why she had acted 
so unjustly. 

And he had thought that his friendship with 
Ocase lay behind her cruelty. On the day before he 
was murdered, with almost his last thought, he had 
tried to regain her good opinion by explaining the 


234 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


fiendish persecution of this uncle. When he was 
tormented by constant dread of a reopening of his 
persecution, she had added to his troubles and an¬ 
xiety by misjudging, even mistreating him; Now, 
too late, she realized her injustice, realized in her 
aching heart, that she had loved him, and would 
always love the memory of the Bon Villon who had 
come into her life, only to depart again in so tragic 
a manner. 

She bowed her head on her arms and the tears, so 
long withheld, drowned her dark eyes while sobs 
shook her slender frame. 


XVIII. 


After bidding Sabine goodbye on the evening of 
the storm, Bon Villon had hurried back along the 
path hoping to reach home before the storm broke. 
Darkness came on quickly. Thunder rolled and 
before he was about half way back, rain began fall¬ 
ing. By lightening flashes he saw Sergeant Karet 
hurrying along the path to meet him. 

Just as he was in the act of hailing the sergeant 
he heard the swish-h-h of a rope, and felt it’s coils 
tighten about him. Struggling to free himself he 
saw two men dash from the bushes and close in on 
him. He fought with all his power until jerked off 
his feet. In the struggle he heard Karet call out. 
Then dragged for short distance he was delt terrific 
blows on body and head, and a sudden pain seared 
into his brain. A last heavy blow to his head and 
stomach, and he lost consciousness. 

When his dazed faculties returned Bon Villon felt 
the hard cold ground beneath him, and wondered 
why he was lying there in the darkness. Slowly his 
conversation with Sabine came back to him, then, 
step by step, he recalled the events leading up to 


235 


23 6 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


his loss of consciousness. He struggled to a sitting 
posture but the effort caused a terrific pain to 
shoot through his head. Raising his hand to the 
back of his head he found it painfully bruised and 
swollen. 

"The cowards,” he muttered. "They struck me 
from behind and there’s no telling how long I’ve 
been in this dark Hades.” 

He crawled a little way in the darkness, then got 
unsteadily to his feet and felt his way along care¬ 
fully. A dozen steps brought him up against a 
wall of earth which was as smooth as if scooped out 
with a shovel. He followed this wall around until 
it grew rough with rocks. Attempting to cross to 
the other side of his prison he stumbled against a 
large boulder, upon which he seated himself. 

Realizing that he was confined underground, 
Bon Villon tried to recall all the caves in the hills and 
steep hollows not far from his home. 

Rising, he started to make a thorough examina¬ 
tion of his prison but, remembering that the utter 
darkness might be caused by its being really night, 
he seated himself again to wait until day. After 
what seemed hours the darkness lifted, and the gray 
dawn showed faint outlines of objects about him. 

As it grew lighter the cave began to look familiar. 
At last he recognized it as one he had examined soon 
after coming to Louisiana, when his curiosity had 
been aroused by the story of a Boluxa Indian having 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


237 


been murdered there. Gathering his scattered wits, 
he recalled that the cave was large and egg shaped. 

"Thank God,” he muttered aloud, and rising he 
stumbled across to where on that hot summer day 
of his visit, he slaked his thirst at a little spring. Yes 
here it was, a crystal fountain which rose, then sank 
again to feed the bayou which flowed just outside 
the cave. 

Bon Villon knelt and drank long and thirstily of 
the cool water that revived and refreshed him. After 
bathing his feverish hands and face he searched for 
his handkerchief. Instead of his own fine velvet 
garb, with triple cravet, gold buckles and fine silk 
hose, he was now clothed in a country made suit of 
coarse cloth, and high top boots several numbers 
too large. This change of garments was puzzling, 
but more so was the fact that he was still alive. Had 
his enemies supposed him dead and left him here, or 
had they imprisoned him in the cave to die of 
starvation? 

This thought recalled him suddenly from the 
speculative to the actual, and stepped across to 
where the light showing through large cracks re¬ 
vealed what he knew to be the one opening to the 
cave. This entrance was closed by stout saplings 
driven deep into the ground and secured firmly by 
the crossing of others, larger and stouter, over them. 

Bon Villon began in a systematic way to try to 
remove them, but using all his strength, he worked 


238 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


for two hourse without making the least progress. 
Deciding that it was useless to work longer with his 
bare hands, he bethought himself of what he might 
accomplish with a good sharp rock. Stopping to 
rest his tired back and bruised hands before another 
trial, he sat thinking, when suddenly his strained 
ears caught the faint echo of voices. 

He glued his eyes to a crack, prepared to call for 
help, when, rounding the hill he saw two men com¬ 
ing straight toward the cave. By the peculiar hitch 
in the smaller man’s walk he knew at once that he 
was to receive a visit from his uncle and captor. The 
other was the fellow who had tripped him at Smith’s 
Tavern, then shot at him before making his escape. 

At the sight of the delicately chiseled features of 
Cingaro, with their saintly whiteness and blue veins 
belied by the snaky glitter of the green eyes, a livid 
hatred filled Bon Villon. In his big clean manliness 
he marveled at the black soul hidden beneath that 
holy, womanish exterior. Ricardo was the mur¬ 
derer of his adored and unsuspecting brother and 
sister. The prisoner’s hands clinched and his jaws 
snapped, but Cingaro was safe on the other side of 
the intervening stakes, and in his safety would have 
gloried in Bon Villon’s mad agony had he known it. 

Arriving at the cave Cingaro, or Ricardo Estebo 
to give him his true name, knelt down and peered 
through the stakes, his dull eyes gleaming with all 
the gleeful malice of Satan. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


239 


"Ah, hum, ha! The gay cavalier has revived.” 
He drew back, stroking his chin softly with a white, 
beringed hand. "Yes, you have come to life, you 
sniveling hypocrite.” 

Bon Villon did not trust himself to speak. Don 
Ricardo should not gloat over the torment caused 
by his loathsome presence and priestly cacklings, so 
he drew farther back into the cave and was silent. 
This was not pleasing to Cingaro, for he had dreamed 
of a humble cringing captive, such as he himself 
would have been. Judging Bon Villon by himself 
was a flaw in Cingaro’s almost perfect cunning and 
he realized it when Bon Villon arose and walked 
away. 

Cingaro put his evil face nearer the crack and be¬ 
gan talking in a smooth voice which carried back 
to where Senor Bon Villon had seated himself. 

"My dear nephew, you cannot doubt now that I 
have you at my mercy, and knowing my purpose, as 
you must, you at least realize I am a factor to be 
reckoned with. Your friends all think you dead 
and there is no earthly hope for you, unless I choose 
to give it. If you are reasonable and will act ac¬ 
cording to my command, I am ready to help you.” 
He waited a minute but the silence remained un¬ 
broken. "I wish to share with you some of the 
wealth you have such small need of in these woods, 
he continued. "And when you have revealed the 
whereabouts of the large fortune belonging to the 


240 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Estebos, then will I set you free, never again to be 
molested. I have you in my power, but prefer to 
be merciful to one of my own blood.” 

A mocking laugh echoed through the cave. Cin- 
garo’s face went dark at the sound, and when he 
spoke again it was in the hissing voice peculiar to his 
anger. 

"You will not be entreated again, nor will I come 
near you until I am sent for. In the meantime you 
may dance the spider dance from wall to wall. ,, 

Before the hissing of the last words had died, the 
priest had scrambled to his feet and was crippling 
away followed by Bellaco. 

Left to himself Bon Villon came to the opening 
and watched them go out of sight around the hill. 
The longer he pondered the situation the more hope¬ 
less it looked. Cingaro had won at last—he was cap¬ 
able of crimes and cunning not to be coped with by 
natural human beings. But why should Sergeant 
Karet and the wily Ocase give him up for dead so 
soon, and how did Ricardo know it? Sound reason¬ 
ing convinced him the priest had lied. This made 
him feel more hopeful. 

Soon the pangs of hunger assailed him, bringing 
thoughts of his cozy little kitchen and Liza’s hot 
biscuit and coffee. A wintery wind coming 
through the cracks of the barricade brought his 
mind back to the cold, damp cave. Searching, he 
found a rock of the right size and shape, and set to 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


241 


work to dig up one of the heavy stakes. For hours 
he dug, making some progress, but as he worked on 
and on disregarding his aching back and head, his 
strength suddenly failed him and he felt the earth 
slipping away beneath him, beneath his feet. 

When consciousness returned he opened his eyes 
and attempted to get up but was seized with such 
a terrific pain in his head that he lay quite still until 
it abated. Fearing to move, he lay there, gazing out 
of his prison at a beautiful autumn high noon. The 
sun was shining gloriously but a chilly breeze rustled 
the tinted leaves which continually drifted to the 
ground to lie with a million others on the hill side. 
A large buck came leisurely out of the woods, head 
and great antlers erect, nibbling a leaf here and 
there before finally disappearing into the forest 
again. The day wore on until the sun dropping be¬ 
hind the trees left the sky all a glory. 

Bon Villon awoke from a half stupor to find the 
pain in his head entirely gone. After refreshing 
himself at the spring, he walked up and down the 
cave, stretching his tired limbs and back. On 
the morrow he would succeed in the work he had 
started this morning. What were a few saplings to 
stand between a big strong man and freedom? His 
steps became buoyant with restored hope. His 
thoughts turned to Marcelena and the happy days 
to come when they would laugh at his present situ¬ 
ation, and through the hours he lived again the 


242 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


times they had met and loved. Each look and word 
of hers came back to brighten his lonely prison. 
Long after he had tired himself out and lay gazing 
out on the frosty starlit night, his thoughts were 
of her. So also were the dreams that came later, 
though they were often disturbed by the light pit- 
patter on the rocks outside, or the occasional scream 
of some beast coming down from the hills to in¬ 
vestigate the human smell at the cave. 

When Bon Villon woke again broad day was shin¬ 
ing through the opening, and stealing in slanting 
rays across the floor of the cave. He was conscious 
of a dullness in his head, and a sense of hopeless de¬ 
pression after his long fast, but went to work with 
such energy that by night he should have been as 
free as the wind. 

"So, you have decided to come out of it, senor?” 
questioned a mocking voice. 

Bon Villon looked out to see Bellaco regarding his 
work scornfully. How long he had been watched 
he did not know. Grinning wickedly, Bellaco set 
to work to repair all his prisoner had destroyed, but 
not without some difficulty, as he had constantly to 
side step the well aimed rock Bon Villon hurled at 
him. 

"There! I guess that will hold you until morn¬ 
ing, then I will return and see how much damage 
you have done,” said Bellaco, rubbing his bruises 
and walking off when he had completed his repairs. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


243 


Bon Villon gave up all hope of escaping by his 
own efforts, and when night came it found him 
pacing to and fro, weak and despondent over the 
futility of his plans. The strain of hunger and im¬ 
prisonment was telling on him, and in his troubled 
dreams Cingaro came to torture him in the most 
awful ways. It was well toward morning when he 
fell asleep from utter exhaustion. 

The sun was high in the sky when he was 
awakened by a whispered conversation beyond the 
barricade. He lay still in pretended sleep. 

"Now, while he sleeps I will season this roast 
for my little partner. Ah, Bellaco, I poured over 
much but I can’t be selfish. Could anything be 
more tempting than a brown, juicy roast? You 
may awake the lazy one now, perhaps he is a little 
hungry and I will stand aside and hear his thanks.” 

Bellaco must have hesitated for the soft mocking 
voice of the priest changed to a hissing whisper. 

"Fool, hesitate to do as I bid and you shall eat 
every bit of it yourself!” 

Then Bellaco called in a trembling voice, "Senor 
Bon Villon, wake up!” 

Bon Villon lay still until Bellaco had called several 
times. Opening his eyes, he said in a weak voice, 
"Who is there?” 

"It is Bellaco. I have brought you something to 
eat. See?” And he shoved the roast and some 
brown biscuit through the widest crack. 


244 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


"Did the priest know you were going to bring 
it?” 

"No, senor. I felt sorry for you and slipped off 
and fixed this roast myself. Now come and get it.” 

"I am so very weak and tired. Can’t, can’t you 
shove it a little nearer to me?” 

"I can.” 

Bellaco pressed close to the crack, trying to get 
the tempting meal under the prisoner’s nose. In a 
flash Bon Villon reached the meat and dashed it full 
force in his enemy’s face. The villian staggered 
back, paralyzed with fright, and rolled to the 
ground. 

"I am killed, I am poisoned!” he bellowed. 

Bon Villon slid to the crack and watched the per¬ 
formance with delight. Cingaro swearing and 
gesticulating finally landed on Bellaco a kick which 
brought him back from his frenzy of fear. 

"Get up, you howling fool, and wash your face.” 

"Oh Mary! Father, will it kill me?” 

"No, but it ought to, you blithering idiot. You 
have betrayed me.” 

The priest gritted his teeth in rage for he now 
knew his prisoner would never eat food from him. 
Death by starvation was too slow to suit Cingaro’s 
purpose, and in his fury at Bellaco he failed to 
notice the smiling face at the crack in the barricade. 
When he rock caught him in the pit of his stomach 
he crumpled up on the ground and lay still until 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


245 


another rock flew over his head, warning him that 
he was still a target in good range. Then he wrig¬ 
gled to one side there to call down all the saints and 
devils to witness his revenge. 

Bellaco, returning from the bayou with a face 
red from scrubbing with sand and water, thought 
the priest was still raving at him. Pleased for him 
to think it, Cingaro proceeded to swear at him in a 
terrible way, and still cursing, followed by Bellaco, 
he went away. 

The savory smell of the roast set the prisoner wild 
with hunger and he was compelled to destroy every 
trace of it to keep from licking the places it had 
touched. For hours afterwards he grovelled on the 
floor of the cave in an agony of hunger that was 
worse than death. Late that evening he became 
more unconscious of any feeling and, at last lay 
motionless at the barricade and watched the stars 
come out one by one. 

The moon that flooded the hills and woods with a 
cold, mellow light revealed a great yellow cat 
slinking around the hill, its padded feet making a 
light patter on the rocks. Closer and closer it came 
until the poisoned roast was found pounched upon 
and devoured in a flash. Then, sniffing around the 
cave opening for awhile, the animal turned and 
trotted toward the wood but ere it reached that 
shelter Bon Villon saw the long body leap into the 
air and roll on the ground in convulsions that ended 
soon in death. 


246 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Four long days and nights went by. Bellaco came 
each night and morning to see that the stakes were 
not loosened and to leave tempting food in the hope 
the prisoner would grow desperate and partake of it. 
No sooner was it deposited through the crack than 
Bon Villon threw it out for fear he might be 
tempted beyond resistance. 

The eighth day of his imprisonment found him 
too weak to rise, so he lay close to the opening 
listening for Bellaco to approach, knowing full well 
that he was starved to the point where resistance to 
their plans was useless. He lay in a half stupor, his 
one idea to hear Bellaco when he approached. His 
horror of dozing, and having them murder him 
while he slept was all that kept him conscious. 

Suddenly he heard his name called. He started 
up and looked into the shriveled face of Madame 
Lisso peering through a crack. 

"Honey, honey, air ye thar? I knowed ye warn’t 
dead,” she was saying as he pulled himself nearer so 
she could see him. 

"Food, mother, I am starving,” he told her in a 
voice he would never have recognized as his own, so 
faint it was with weakness. 

"Pore chile, I knowed ye’d be hongery. Come a 
little closer, son.” 

As he reached the crack she drew forth from a 
sack a bottle of rich, sweet milk and bade him drink 
of it.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


247 


"Now, stop, ma son. I be hearin’ ov starvin’ 
people killin’ theyselves by stuffin’ too much. Ye 
can hev more arter a while.” 

Bon Villon was impatient and begged for all of 
the milk but Madame Lisso was firm and waited 
for him to rest a few moments, then gave him an¬ 
other bottle which, to his unbounded delight, con¬ 
tained wine. In a short time the milk and wine 
had brought him a long way back towards his old 
self. He sat up bright eyed and anxious to listen 
to Madame Lisso. 

"I be tae old tae strain me back at them poles 
but ole mother gwine ter fin’ another way ter help 
her pore chile. They sergeant and Ocase been 
traipsin’ roun’ huntin’ ye sense they found it warn’t 
ye been kilt an et by de varmints, but Handsome 
Bill ez dey buried sa nice—but dey couldn’t fool de 
ole witch,” she chuckled to herself. 

"Did they try to pass Handsome Bill off for me, 
mother?” asked Bon Villon eagerly. "Did they 
murder him just for that purpose?” 

"Aye, ma son, dey git de robber somehow and 
’low as how it be ye.” 

"Ah, now I see why Ricardo said they thought 
me dead.” 

"Aye, ma pore chile. But dis old critter warn’t 
fooled. I tell Sabine an de good sergeant and dey 
be searchin’ high an low fer ye. But I be goin’ now 


248 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


and stir up de settlement. Take dis knife and hole 
em off ’till some help comes.” 

And the old woman pushed through the crack 
the knife and what remained of the milk she had 
brought him. 

"God bless you, mother. I will not forget you 
when I am free again.” 

Bon Villon’s heart was full as he watched the 
misjudged old woman hobble away and disappear 
in the woods. He then went to the little spring 
that had been his one comfort during the eight 
weary days of his imprisonment and, stripping off 
his clothes, dashed and rubbed the icy water over 
himself until his sluggish blood coursed anew 
through his veins. As he stamped about, feeling 
his strength return, a sense of security came over 
him that he had not felt since the first day of his 
imprisonment. 

The winter was advancing fast. A cold wind 
swept through leafless branches of the trees and 
whistled around the hills. Bon Villon sat on his 
rock out of reach of its biting touch and wondered 
why Bellaco was late paying his morning visit to 
the cave. 

Soon he heard the baying of hounds, and Bellaco 
and the priest came hastily up to the cave. In his 
fear and excitement Bellaco did not look into the 
prison but began at once to tear at the saplings of 
the barricade. 


XX. 


A flickering fire burned with a dull, red glow in 
the lonely little house by the Dolette Bayou, light¬ 
ing the dusky faces of Mulatto and Liza, but fail¬ 
ing to dispel the gloom cast over them by the black 
night without and the silence within. It was two 
days since the funeral of their master and it was of 
him they were thinking as they sat hovered close 
together. They spoke only in occasional whispers, 
turning frightened faces to each other when the 
house creaked or the wind moaned through the 
trees. Their eyes grew wider and whiter as the oc¬ 
casional scream of a panther rose in a piercing 
shriek, to die away in a quavering wail like the cry 
of a lost child out in the lonely hills. 

Liza threw on a pine knot and as the blaze shot 
up the wide chimney, leaned closer to Mulatto. 

"It’s pow’ful solum to be free folkes,” she whis¬ 
pered. 

Mulatto groaned mournfully, and looked at Liza 
as though the thought was too new and awful for 
him to reply. 

"I ain’t so proud ter be free as some niggahs ud 


249 


250 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


be,” she continued. "I’d ruther hab Marse here 
wid us, dat I wud.” 

The tears rolled down her face while Mulato con¬ 
solingly wiped them away with his shirt sleeves. 

"Dis is a solemn time fer us, gal. I feels like er 
jedge atter he done pass judgment on er innocent 
man and ’lowed him ter be excited.” 

tl Pore Marse Villon, nebber git ter smack his 
mouf ober his vittels no mo and ’low’ to me as ahm 
de bes’ cook in Louisiana, Lawd, Lawd, I cud stan’ it 
ef pore Marse had died by death in er natchel bed 
and not been misfiggered by de howlin’ varmints.” 

"Quit, gal! You horrors my feelin’s.” He laid 
his hands up, palms outward, as though warding off 
the horrible thoughts crowding around him. "Marse 
done crossed de ribber and cain’t cum back.” 

He looked over his shoulder as though to make 
sure. Liza looked too, and the grotesque shadows 
cast by the flickering fire seemed like flitting spirits 
from another world. With frightened faces they 
sat gazing with stiffened muscles, until a log rolled 
over in the fire and sent up a shower of sparks that 
dispelled the lurking shadows with another bright 
blaze. 

The rattle of a chain outside caused Liza to ask, 
"Ain’t you unfasten dat dawg, niggah?” 

"I clean forgot ter do dat, sho! Why ain’t you 
mind me uv hit fo’ dis unyearthy hour?” 

"I ’lowed you turnt dat dawg loose whilst Fse 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


251 


gittin’ suppah. You kin loose him now and git 
mo kindlin’ fer de fiah.” 

"Lawdy, honey, I’se all crippled up with de 
rheumatiz fum dis night air, ah fo’ de Lawd, ef my 
pallet ain’t done drap down. Sho’s death’s addin’, 
dere’s a voodoo on dis place, sho’. Don’t you reco¬ 
member dat crawfish claw us foun’ las’ week? Dat’s 
de cause er all disturbment. Somebody ’lows ter git 
dare claws on us. Ain’t yer gwine ter tie up dis 
pallet, gal?” 

Liza reached for a string and tied up a bunch of 
his kinky hair as tight as she could pull it to the 
top of his sharp head. The pallet it was believed 
would then resume its natural position. 

"You bettah loosen date dawg, niggah, lak Marse 
K’ret done tole yo!” 

"Dat dawg make nuff noise perootin’ roun’ wid 
dat chain.” 

Mulatto was not going to venture outside on this 
dark night, and edging his chair closer to Liza he 
determined to turn her thoughts in another direc¬ 
tion. 

"Does yo’ lub yo’ baby, gal?” 

"Go ’way niggah,” yawned Liza. 

"Ah lubs yo’ all de deep holes in de Dolette Bayou 
lippin’ full, and I’se gwine ter long as de chiney 
berries hang to de trees, sho!” 

"Dat’s a long time, ’case when dey dries up, dey 
sho’ stays. I’se gwine ter bed, me.” 


252 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


As she finished raking the coals off the hearth and 
rose to go, a low, deep growl reached their ears. She 
stopped still, her frightened eyes on Mulatto who 
had crept to the window and was peering through 
the vines. 

Quickly turning he whispered, "Put out dat 
light. Dey’s comin!” 

Not waiting for Liza, he darted into the kitchen 
and climbed up the little ladder into the loft. Liza 
was at his heels, pulling the ladder up behind her. 
They crouched there in the darkness like fearful 
trembling wood rats. 

The fierce growl and furious plunging of the dog 
was mixed with a loud hammering on the door and 
a loud voice which called, "Hello! Hello in there! 
You damned niggers get up!” 

The door rattled again. Silence. A renewed 
banging. 

"What can be the matter?” asked a slow, meas¬ 
ured voice. 

"Damned if I can tell,” was the answer. 

Wolf, after another spell of growling and chain 
rattling finally gave up and settled down. The two 
negroes in the loft heard again the soft voice, and 
thanked God the trap door to the loft was in the 
darkest corner of the kitchen. 

"Pound the door down, Bellaco. The cursed in¬ 
fidel’s abode is an abhorrence to the Lord as well as 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


253 


the infidel himself. Make haste and pound it to 
splinters.” 

In the racket that that ensued breaking in the 
heavy door, Liza punched Mulatto in the ribs, mak¬ 
ing him jump and stifle a scream. 

"Be still, niggah, dat’s er preacher down dar,” 
she whispered as she peeped through a crack into 
the room. Mulatto, screwing up his courage, had 
just glued his eye to the crack, when the door fell in 
with a crash that sent him rolling back into the dark 
corner. Liza, trembling with fright, looked again 
and saw two men enter the room. One, a cripple, 
went up to the fire and kicked the smouldering log. 

"Wait, father,” said the man at the door. "I’ll 
get some kindling.” 

He stepped out on the gallery, and returning with 
an armful of pine he soon had the little room 
ablaze with light. 

"Now, find the negroes, Bellaco. They are hid¬ 
ing somewhere.” 

Mulatto and Liza shivered inwardly at these 
words and listened as the men went from room to 
room in search of them. Giving up at last, they 
returned to the fire where they stood warming, un¬ 
conscious that their movements were noted by two 
pairs of bright eyes in the loft. 

Cingaro and Bellaco decided that the negroes had 
left the place before their arrival, probably because 
of fear of remaining in the house of their dead 


254 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


master. The priest rubbed his shapely white hands 
together over the fire, and the chuckling in his 
throat sounded like two empty nuts cracking to¬ 
gether, ever so softly. 

"Ah, my dear Bellaco, this suits me excellently. I 
am in possession at last. The bird first, then the 
cage, eh, my son?” 

Again his chuckle filled the room. Cingaro was 
in no hurry. He had contrived for this time too 
patiently and too long to lose one bit of the satis¬ 
faction and pleasure in it. He limped over to the 
cabinet in the corner, talking all the while, seeming 
to address Bellaco but chatting only for his own 
gratification. 

"Now for some papers and loose cash,” he said, 
approaching the cabinet and giving the middle 
drawer a vigorous pull. To his surprise it opened 
easily, almost causing him to lose his balance. 

"Bellaco, bring me one of those infernal Ameri¬ 
can candles that drips its juice on hands and clothes. 
Perhaps I’ll find here some of my lordly brother’s 
writing, my dear departed brother,—the super¬ 
cilious Don Marcos, father of the brave Bon Villon, 
who taunt me with my honor.” 

He turned impatiently to Bellaco who had just 
found the candles. 

"King Richard slew his brother to inherit a 
throne, I, my cursed kindred for revenge, and the 
Estebo riches that are rightfully mine. Now, my 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 255 

son, hold the candle so I can see what it is necessary 
to take.” 

Cingaro drew out another drawer. It was empty, 
as were all the others drawn out in quick succession. 
Limping from side to side and swearing mightily, he 
tapped the cabinet for the secret drawer he sus¬ 
pected it contained. Almost wrecking it he scat¬ 
tered the drawers upon the floor, and began to 
search the house in every crack and crevice, tear¬ 
ing up the beds and even some of the boards from 
the floor. After he and Bellaco had gone over and 
over the three rooms they looked as if a storm had 
swept through them, they then returned to the 
fire, threw on more pine and sat down. 

The priest was silent, his green eyes glittering 
through half closed eye-lids with the same expres¬ 
sion one finds in the rattler, as he lies in wait for 
the rabbits to pass. As Bellaco watched the master 
he served, a look of livid hatred swept over his 
face, but it was only the hate of a bird drawn ever 
nearer by the charm of the serpent’s lidless eyes. 

Cingaro turned and caught his servant’s look. 

"Why are you staring at me so stupidly, fool?” 

"Forgive me, father.” 

"I am not in a forgiving mood tonight, my son.” 

"Father why do you so often call me your son, 
when I am only your servant?” Bellaco asked the 
question that had often worried him. Fie knew the 


256 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


priest bore him no love, yet he did not realize what 
a necessity he was in this strange, wild country. 

Cingaro looked hesitantly at the servant. 

"You may be surprised to hear it, but you are 
really my son, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh.” 

"Your son!” cried Bellaco. "Why, I am as old as 
you.” 

"Indeed no. You have not kept your age cor¬ 
rectly, though I was very young, not yet of age, 
when you were born. Your mother, my son, is 
Amanda, of whom you are naturally so fond.” 

Bellaco looked long at the smirking priest. He 
knew this man had no fatherly feeling for him and 
doubted the truth of the confession Cingaro had 
chosen to make, and yet, that strange fear and fas¬ 
cination the priest held for him seemed to draw 
him closer in the circle. This thought was pleasant 
however compared to the idea of being a son of the 
bloodless Amanda. In his religious fanaticism he 
worshipped Cingaro as a priest, but the thought of 
Amanda filled him with loathing, as though a cold 
snail had crawled across his mouth and left its slimy 
trail thereon. He knew in his soul that Cingaro 
had lied to him. 

Cingaro watched the effect of his confession 
with satisfaction. He considered his time poorly 
spent when not torturing something. 

"Now, my son, you understand why I rescued 
you from your sinful, piratical career and have kept 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


257 


you near me ever since. You will now inherit the 
Estebo estate with me. Instead of 'The Honorable 
Don Marcos and Sons’; it will be 'The Honorable 
Ricardo and Son’.” 

He smacked his white lips in pleasurable anticipa¬ 
tion, while Bellaco waited in silence, fearing to dis¬ 
turb his gloating. At least the servant ventured to 
ask, "Father, you will now finish the senor since 
there is nothing else to do?” 

"Nay! Nay! Speak not so, my son. Senor Bon 
Villon has been buried these many days. The 
Phantom Rifleman at his last flitting, ferried my 
beloved nephew across the River. When I am again 
in Spain living in the arms of luxury, I shall say 
masses for the soul of my kin, especially for that of 
my nephew who was devoured by the vultures and 
had not the pleasure of passing to realms unknown 
through the mouth of this tiny bottle.” 

Here he fingered a small vial, slick and shiny 
from long use. Bellaco shivered at the sight of it, 
for he knew the contents of that bottle and was 
afraid. Cingaro watching him, chuckled and rose, 
stretching his crippled leg. 

"Come, there is nothing here for us. This time 
tomorrow night I will be on my way to the Red 
River, then, heigh-ho for Spain and riches.” 

Bellaco noticed the priest said / and not we, and 


258 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


shivered again as he followed his master from the 
house. 

Mulatto and Liza lay very still after the last 
sound of the departing men had died away. The 
conversation they had heard awakened strange ideas 
in their crude mind. They had just ventured to 
whiper a few words when again the sounds of foot¬ 
steps and a voice speaking to Wolf came to their 
ears. A few minutes later Ocase Mataha stepped 
into the room and looked searchingly around. 

"Where are the negroes, Lebo?” he called in a 
gruff voice, and an instant later the giant favorite 
came through the door. 

"Kinder tore things up as they went, eh, chief?” 
he said, looking around the disordered room. 

Chief Ocase walked to the other room, and find¬ 
ing it empty, looked into the kitchen, then came 
back to the fire. 

"Where did the fool negroes go, I wonder?” 

"Here us is, Marse Ocasy.” 

The outlaws looked at each other in surprise when 
from the ceiling, in the same hoarse whisper came 
the words, "Is dat Marse Ocasy sittin’ down dere 
now?” 

Ocase stamped his foot. 

"Who in hell is that?” 

"Hits de Lawd’s servants,” said Mulatto, still 
whispering. 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 259 

"Well, where in the devil are you? Have you all 
turned to ghosts in this house?” 

"We tuck en clum up heah in de loff, Marse 
Ocasy.” 

"Well, you can 'tuck en clum’ down from there 
or HI put some holes in the planks you are on.” 

Before he finished speaking the negroes shuffled 
across the loft, fairly tumbling over each other, 
come down the ladder and into the room. 

"What the hell were you doing up there?” asked 
the Indian as the breathless negroes stood before 
him. 

"Hidin’ up dere.” 

"Hiding from what?” 

"Dat preacher an his offspring.” 

"Tell us about them. That’s what we’re here 
for.” 

"Lawdy, Marse Ocasy, dere’s been rampam doin’s 
at dis house tonight. Oh Lawdy, Liza, speak up an 
say sumpin’ bout dese gwining ons we seed thru’ 
de crack.” 

"How long since they were here? Tell us quick.” 

The half breed showed some excitement as the 
negroes tried to tell what they had seen and heard. 
Before they had finished speaking Ocase turned to 
Lebo. 

"Ride like the wind for my horse.” 

In a very short time Lebo returned with the horse 
and a bloodhound. The new dog and Wolf were 


260 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


brought into the house and permitted to smell the 
floor and chairs, then turned loose in hot pursuit 
of the priest Cingaro and his accomplice. 

A few hours later, after day had dawned, Mulatto 
looked up from his work to see Monsieur Karet and 
Joe Sohone on their horses at the door. He started 
toward them in a long trot. The sergeant had come 
to meet Ocase and inquired of the negro if he had 
yet arrived. Mulatto, fairly bursting with infor¬ 
mation, gave a disconnected account of what had 
taken place the night before. His imagination given 
full sway confused Karet and Joe no little as to the 
actual facts. 

"Which direction did Ocase and the hounds 
take?” Karet asked as Mulatto began telling again, 
how in "De dead hours ob de night dat preacher 
man tuck en fling one drawer in dis d’rection, and 
de nex’ one in/ dat. Dey sot out zackly souf, right 
’long side ob dat chicken coop, zackly on dat spot. 
Wolf shot out’en de house an went jumpin’ er long 
lak he wuz on er spring. Marse Ocasy din tuck 
en guv er holler dat made dis niggah go straight in 
de air. Lawdy, cain’t dat man holler? He! He!” 
Mulatto slapped his thigh. "Den dey went out’en 
de distance, dost ter dat tallest pine.” 

"What time was it then?” 

"Jes’ as de moon sot.” 

"Then they have several hours start of us, Joe, 
we’ll have to ride.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


261 


Off they went in the direction Mulatto had in¬ 
dicated. If Karet had been alone he could hardly 
have followed the trail, but Joe, a thorough woods¬ 
man, had not the slightest trouble. A strong friend¬ 
ship had sprung up between the sergeant and Joe 
Sohone, one of the worst men in the robber band. 
Karet could not but admire Joe’s keen judgment 
and loyalty to his friends, while Joe would have 
gone against anyone but his chief for the lively 
Frenchman, who had proved true metal in the long 
and fatiguing search for Senor Bon Villon. Con¬ 
stantly together day and night, each had broadened 
the other. It was nearing noon before they came 
within hearing of the other party, the encouraging 
shouts to the dogs coming to them quite plainly. 

"Something wrong, sergeant. They are falling 
back to start the dogs on the tracks again,” said 
Joe. 

"Singular that those two sagacious hounds would 
lose the scent,” answered Karet. 

They spurred their horses and were soon in sight 
of Ocase and Lebo who were now ascending a hill 
close at the heels of the hounds. As Karet and Joe 
drew near they noticed the hounds suddenly stop, 
tuck their tails and refuse to go further. Ocase’s 
"Whoop! Wooah, go!” only caused them to sniff 
around a little and come back to gaze pitifully at 
their master, who urged them on with a stream of 
profanity. He paid no attention to the arrival of 


262 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Karet and Joe, but Lebo explained to them that the 
priest had put something on the scent which com¬ 
pletely baffled the dogs’ pursuit. Seeing it was 
useless to urge the dogs more, Ocase wheeled his 
horse and gave orders. Karet and Joe were to take 
Wolf and circle to the left and, if they picked up 
the trail, fire a gun as a signal, while he and Lebo 
covered the ground to the right. 

Karet and Joe rode slowly, encouraging Wolf 
who trotted ahead of them nosing the ground care¬ 
fully, but never giving the glad yelp that would in¬ 
dicate he was on the trail again. Rounding a steep 
slope the two men entered the open woods and to 
their surprise, came upon the witch, Madame Lisso. 

"How did she get over here?’ exclaimed the ser¬ 
geant. 

"She is everywhere. They say she rides a broom.” 

Karet smiled as he saw her pony standing near. 
The old woman had heard them and waited, so 
Karet went toward her, reluctantly followed by 
Joe. Madame Lisso bent and shriveled as ever, her 
short brown skirt and flopped bonnet the color of 
the pine needles on the ground where she stood, mo¬ 
tioned with her bony hand for them to stop. 

Sergeant Karet dismounted and greeted her kind¬ 
ly, explaining his surprise at finding her so far from 
home. 

"Tish! Tish!” she said, her little black eyes look¬ 
ing askance at Joe who remained a short distance 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


263 


away on his horse. "I be too ugly fer the varmints 
to pester, an I hev words fer ye.” 

"What is it mother? We are still searching.” 

"Then spare na time. Go straight to Ocase Ma- 
taha and tell him fer de ole witch that de Senor Bon 
Villon’s life hangs by a hair, an ef he be atter sabin’ 
him, go direct to de cave whar he kilt de Boluxa 
Indian. An our Queen ov de Holy Rosary len’ 
wings to yer horse’s feet.” 

"In a cave you say?” asked Karet in a puzzled 
voice. 

"Aye, in de cave ov de Boluxa brave. Ocase will 
know. Now fly, it mout already be too late.” 

Karet stepped aside and fired his pistol and the ar- 
swering shot came. While they waited the sergeant 
helped the old woman to mount her pony and 
watched her amble off in the direction of Bon Vil¬ 
lon’s house, there to wait the tidings, evil or good, 
that the evening would bring. 


XIX. 

After leaving Bon Villon’s house, Cingaro and 
Bellaco walked slowly through the woods towards 
the cave which they intended visiting for the last 
time that morning. Then, their work in Louisiana 
completed, they would go to the Red River, thence 
to New Orleans and on to Spain. The priest was 
in high good humor at the prospect before him, for 
Bellaco’s account of his prisoner’s condition on the 
previous day, convinced him it would be an easy 
matter to force Bon Villon to give the information 
so necessary to his own plans. They traversed the 
three miles of woods and emerged on a hill near 
where they had found a convenient hiding place 
for their captive. All these days, while searching 
parties were miles away scouring every out of the 
way place in the settlement, Cingaro and Bellaco 
had rested securely at the very back door of their 
prisoner’s home. 

Gray dawn was breaking as the priest and his 
servant halting for a few minutes rest, heard the 
the distant yelp of hounds on the trail. Bellaco, 
terrified, begged the priest to hurry, but Cingaro 
264 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


265 


silently proceeded to rub on the soles of his shoes 
a peculiar liquid he carried in his clothes. He mo¬ 
tioned Bellaco to do likewise, then made off over 
the hill as fast as his twisted leg could carry him, 
the servant pale with fright, beside him. They took 
a round-about way to the cave, stopping at inter¬ 
vals to put the liquid on their shoes. Arriving at 
the cave they began tearing and pulling at the stakes 
with which they had blocked the entrance. 

As Bellaco attempted to climb to the top of the 
stakes to untie them, he felt a sudden, terrible pain 
and fell shrieking to the ground at Cingaro’s feet, 
the blood streaming from a deep gash in his leg. 

"You hound of hell!” cried the priest. "Any 
more such tricks and Til put a bullet in your heart.” 

There was a movement within the cave, and Bon 
Villon having inflicted some damage on his enemies, 
retreated deeper within his prison. 

"Quick, fool!” the priest ordered Bellaco. "Untie 
these poles and break in the barricade.” 

Bellaco was between two fires. Behind him was 
the faint yelping of disappointed blood hounds. 
Before him was the enemy who had stabbed him, 
and the priest who, angry and swearing was tugging 
at the poles of the barricade. With an oath Cin- 
garo turned to his servant, insensate rage in his 
eyes. Trembling, Bellaco hastened to the assistance 
of his master and the two began wildly to tear down 


266 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


the wall they had erected across the entrance of the 
cave. 

“Hurry, Bellaco. Pull this stake aside and let 
me at him,” whispered Cingaro. A trapped rattler 
could not have been more nervously furious than 
the priest now near the fulfilment of his long con¬ 
templated victory. 

At the sudden braying of hounds Bellaco turned 
to look behind him. 

“Run, father, run. They are upon us!” he 
shrieked, leaping the bayou and dashing off into the 
woods. 

Cingaro turned to look into the beady eyes of 
Chief Ocase. A little screech escaped him as he 
realized he had been caught red-handed. 

“Ough, you dog priest, you slimy snake in the 
grass,” grunted the Indian seizing him. Cingaro 
began to struggle and scream for Bellaco. But 
Bellaco did not return nor did the priest’s struggles 
break the hold Ocase had on his collar. 

“I am a holy priest, you ruffian. Unhand me!” 

“The devil take all such bad priests, you killer of 
children. I will show you how much I love a priest!” 

Jerking Cingaro clear of the ground, the Indian 
shook him until his teeth rattled. 

“Ocase! Ocase!” came a joyful cry from behind 
the barricade. 

At the sound of Bon Villon’s voice Ocase’s face 
showed his relief, but he could not release his hold 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


267 


on the struggling priest in order to help him. As 
Karet dashed up the Indian pointed to the cave, and 
the Frenchman peering between the stakes, grasped 
the hand Bon Villon extended through a small open¬ 
ing. 

"Alive! Alive! Thank God! Are you hurt, 
senor?” 

"No, my good friend, I am not hurt,” and wrung 
Karet’s hand in his joy at beholding that genial face 
again. "Now, sergeant, help me to get out of here.” 

Surrendering the priest to Lebo and Joe who had 
now arrived, Ocase turned to help Karet remove 
the barricade. Soon they made an opening large 
enough to admit them and crawled in. The ser¬ 
geant with his arm about Bon Villon began to ques¬ 
tion him, while Ocase stood surveying the cave. Be¬ 
fore Bon Villon had an opportunity to express his 
thanks the Indian turned and left. 

Bon Villon showed Karet over his prison, then 
free and happy, stepped out into the world again. 
Ocase and his followers had disappeared. The 
thought of what the Indian chief would do to 
Ricardo Estebo, alias Father Cingaro, flashed across 
Bon Villon’s mind. Turning to Karet with a swift 
gesture, he stumbled and from sheer weakness sank 
to the ground. Karet knelt beside him and wiped 
the perspiration from his brow. "Careful fellow, 
your’e weak yet.” he said as he assisted Bon Villon 
back on his feet. Bon Villon thought with lighten- 


268 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


ing swiftness, but too weak to act, spoke quickly, 
shortly, to Karet. 

"Get me on a horse. Find Ocase and delay what 
he is doing. Tell him for me that this is my affair 
and Til attend to it.” 

When Karet located Ocase and the Mexicans they 
were tieing a rope around the squirming, protesting 
priest who was telling them repeatedly that he was 
a priest and a nobleman of Spain, and that they dare 
not touch him. Seeing that the outlaws were in¬ 
different to his ancestry and church standing, he 
changed his tune, pleading and cringing, but Joe 
Sohone disgusted, gave him a kick, declaring hang¬ 
ing was no more fun than hanging a rat. 

Sergeant Karet dashed up on his horse with Bon 
Villon’s message. It was received by Ocase in a 
cool, stolid manner. 

"The cap’s out of his head. Lebo, Joe, swing ’em 
up.” 

Karet, glad the Indian was ignoring Bon Villon’s 
orders, said nothing more, and watched the prepara¬ 
tions with no little satisfaction. 

Bon Villon hastening up was spied by the priest. 

"Save me, nephew! Hurry, hurry! Save me, 
save me!” screamed Cingaro, hope flooding his 
cowardly heart. 

At Ocase’s signal, Joe and Lebo hoisted the fake 
holy man on Ocase’s horse. The rope was tied 
securely about a large limb, and it took but a 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


269 


moment and the slash of a whip to make the animal 
spring from under the eloquent Ricardo and leave 
him dangling in the air with a broken neck. 

Too late, Bon Villon reached the spot. Silently 
he regarded the work of the Indian, and his mind 
went back to his home in Spain. He saw his proud 
father—He remembered his brother and playmate, 
Benito, and little Juanita—He studied long the ob¬ 
ject dangling beneath the tree—Uncle—. This 
thing, when a child, had been greatly loved by Bon 
VTlIon’s father. Perhaps—Ocase’s way was just as 
well. The Estebo’s were revenged. A great weight 
rolled off his heart, he sighed and turned away to 
hear Ocase giving orders for the search for Bellaco. 

"Wait, Ocase.” he called. "Let the other poor 
wretch go. He was only a dupe in the hands of 
my uncle. Let him go.” 

Ocase started to ride on, but wheeled his horse 
and gave Bon Villon a cool, stolid stare. "Ough— 
Let him go you say. Well, let him escape—If he 
can.” 

Mounting their horses, without another look at 
the object swaying, turning, beneath the leafless 
trees, they rode toward Bon Villon’s home. As they 
went he told them all that had happened since he 
was taken prisoner. 


XXL 


From the depression into which the death of 
Bon Villon and his explanatory letter had plunged 
her, Marcelena received a joyful shock. Sergeant 
Karet, passing the house on the Bayou San Miguel 
in search for Bon Villon, had stopped long enough 
to tell her of Madame Lisso’s identification of the 
dead man as Handsome Bill, and to assure her that 
they would yet find the Spaniard alive. But the 
days of anxious waiting—of uncertain news—of 
fruitless search ate at her heart. To be so fearfully 
anxious and yet so pitifully unable to help was driv¬ 
ing her frantic. At last in desperation she decided 
it would be impossible to endure another day of 
suspense. 

Coming to this decision in her retreat on the 
bayou where she sat in the welcome sunshine, she 
rushed up the path and into the house to shock 
Senora Amata with the announcement that she was 
going to ride immediately to the home of Senor Bon 
Villon, there to await news of him. She asked that 
Guydo be allowed to accompany her. Amata was 
unconvinced that her daughter was acting wisely, 


270 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


271 


but so dear to her heart was Marcelena's happiness 
that it was impossible to refuse her anything within 
the bounds of reason. 

This morning as she stood watching her children 
gallop off into the woods she was not at all sure 
Don Leona would approve the permission she had 
granted, but confident of her ability to pacify him, 
she had permitted Marcelena and Guydo to ride off 
to Bon Villon’s home. 

Marcelena led Guydo a merry chase this morning. 
Her face, a study in anxious meditation, was lit oc¬ 
casionally by a hopeful expression. If her lover was 
alive she would be near him, proving her love as she 
felt he would do for her in like circumstances; and 
if he were dead, her place would still be at his side. 
The sad, haunted look of the past week shadowed 
her eyes, and spurring her pony she went at a still 
faster gait, unmindful of her brother’s remon¬ 
strances. 

Guydo feared for his little sister and dreaded to 
see hope die out of her eyes again. To him it seemed 
far more probable that another funeral would take 
place than that there would be rejoicing. His 
thoughtful eyes had a far away look as he com¬ 
pared his sister’s sorrow, even, if the worst came, 
to his own living sorrow; for Guydo’s love for 
Sabine had not died when she had been forced to 
marry the notorious half-breed and he spent his 
time now studying for priesthood. 


272 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Marcelena and Guydo came to the crossing of the 
bayou that washed over sand so white it caused their 
horses to shy before they sprang across. A curve 
in, the trail and they came in sight of the home of 
Bon Villon. 

"Oh, Guy!” cried Marcelena who was seeing the 
house for the first time. "Look at his house, and 
see, there is a crowd on the gallery. What can it 
mean? Holy Mother of Jesus, stay with me; if I 
find sorrow there it will kill me.” She drew a long, 
quivering breath, then a light that seemed touched 
by heaven came over her face. "Oh, Guy, look 
coming to meet us!” 

Then her lover’s arms were about her lifting her 
to the ground, and clasping her close. 

'T'hank heaven for bringing you back to me! 
But where have you been? What has happened to 
you? I can hardly believe my eyes.” The tears 
came as she looked on his pale emaciated face. 

"Yes, thank heaven for restoring me to you again. 
I will tell you all about my imprisonment by Ri¬ 
cardo when we are alone. I only wish to look at you 
now.” 

"And you know, we thought you dead. Oh, how 
happy I am! But there, Guy is returning from the 
stable and all your friends are staring at us. Come 
sweetheart, you are pale and need rest. I shall ap¬ 
point myself head nurse and begin my duties by or¬ 
dering you to rest.” 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


273 


She proudly led the way to where Bon Villon’s 
friends were congregated. Among them was Sabine 
who seemed a little embarrassed as Marcelena caught 
sight of her, but it was all forgotten as the senorita 
threw loving arms about her, kissed her warmly on 
both cheeks and said how beautiful she had grown 
since their last meeting. Sabine stood blushing and 
happy, the joy of seeing Marcelena and Bon Villon 
again, making her for the moment forgetful of her 
own unhappy past. And, though she would never 
have admitted it, there was another present whose 
absence would have left a vacancy which neither of 
her much loved friends could have filled. 

Sergeant Karet stood, a silent figure, carelessly 
blowing smoke from a cigarette, yet never losing a 
word from Sabine’s mouth or a motion of her golden 
head. 

Marcelena, spying Karet, left Sabine and went to 
shake hands with him. 

“How glad I am to see you, my friend,” she said. 

The sergeant threw his cigarette away and re¬ 
turned Marcelena’s greeting without, however, los¬ 
ing sight of Sabine who had moved over close to her 
grandmother. The old woman was eagerly scan¬ 
ning the faces of the people present. A look of 
bitter hatred crossed her features whenever her 
glance turned to where Ocase sat with Joe and Lebo. 
The half-breed was apparently indifferent to all 
going on about him, but nothing escaped his glitter- 


274 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


ing black eyes. The sergeant’s gallant attentions to 
Sabine, the look in his eyes that rarely wandered 
from her fair face, and which, intentionally or 
otherwise he made no slightest effort to conceal, 
caused every drop of savage blood in the half-breed 
to rise up in jealous rage. 

Old Asa sat close beside Madame Lisso, his simple 
mind puzzled and confused at the buzzing conver¬ 
sation going on about him. Whenever his stupid 
gaze fell on Ocase a film of hatred darkened them, 
and his bony fingers twitched nervously. He had 
never forgotten the abduction of Sabine nor the 
terrible blow the Indian had delt him. 

Marcelena, anxious to be near Bon Villon, went 
and sat by his side, listening wide-eyed as he again 
told of his experience at the hands of Ricardo. The 
oh’s,—and ah’s,—which his thrilling account 
brought from the pouting red lips of his senorita 
was as wine in the cabillero’s veins. When she 
slipped a soft hand in his and murmured tenderly in 
his ear, he was perhaps too happy, for at that 
moment he caught a glimpse of Ocase’s eyes, male¬ 
volent, glittering, as they darted from Karet to 
Sabine. 

Sabine had crowded close to her grandmother 
who turned and studied her thoughtfully before 
saying, "Sae lak ma beautiful darter ye be ta day.” 

Bon Villon caught the words of the old woman. 

"Tell us about Sabine’s father, Grannie,” he said, 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


275 


leaning closer. "It will relieve my mind of much 
anxiety and can certainly do no harm now.” 

Madame Lisso’s eyes receded far back in her head 
and she remained silent a minute. Then, straighten¬ 
ing her bent form, she looked around on the little 
party of listeners. 

"Hit’s like livin’ agin tae see ma gran’darter sae 
lak ma own lettle darter, and they senor is as lak his 
paw as lak can be. It travels me back tae de old 
days when Asa’s paw an me watched our leetle 
darter grow tae be a likesome gal ez Sabine be now, 
en long comes er young Spanish genman and mar¬ 
ried her.” 

"Married her!” burst from Bon Villon’s lips. 

"Aye, I be hevin’ they certify as jined em, an a 
good priest said de words. Ma darter’s man was 
Don Marcos Estebo!” 

Madame Lisso glanced from one serious face to 
another. 

"Thank God,” said Bon Villon, much moved. 
"My always honorable father, in this one thing I 
doubted you; pardon me, my dear father.” 

Going to the mystified Sabine he held out his 
arms. 

"My little sister, as I have suspected since the day 
I saw your ring, my only living relation.” 

He kissed her and explained that her ring had 
been one always worn by his father, Don Marcos 
Estebo. Sabine threw her arms about her brother’s 


276 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


neck and laughed and cried for joy. Then, kneel¬ 
ing at her grandmother’s side she buried her face in 
the shriveled shoulder, while Madame Lisso mum¬ 
bled words unintelligible to all save the little girl 
who all her life had gone to her granny for sym¬ 
pathy and comfort. 

The weeping Sabine felt a pair of plump arms 
steal about her. 

"My dear school-mate and best friend, I am so 
glad for you,” said Marcelena in her rich voice. And 
the two girls kissed each other as girls have done 
since time began. 

"My love the sister of Bon Villon and wife of 
the Indian!” breathed Karet, his surprise as great 
as Sabine’s. 

Going over he took her hands in his and for a 
long moment stood looking into her shining eyes. 
She returned his gaze as though she saw heaven re¬ 
flected in his face. He told her how happy he was 
in her joy, and showed his heart so plainly that Mar¬ 
celena glanced uneasily from them to Bon Villon, 
who in turn looked at Ocase: the Indian was watch¬ 
ing Sabine and Karet with such a savage look that 
Bon Villon’s face blanched with fear for them. 

Poor Asa, not understanding all this weeping and 
kissing and congratulation, could only turn his poor 
puzzled head from one to another. Sabine seemed 
happy over something but still she was weeping, 
perhaps because she was the captured wife of the 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


277 


Indian. The old man’s eyes hardened as he looked at 
the scowling Ocase. 

Bon Villon, at this moment, welcomed the sight 
of Colonel Cushing and Marcel Desoto who were 
dismounting at the gate. In the stir that succeeded 
their arrival Ocase slowly rose to his feet and came 
forward, his smouldering eyes scanning Sabine’s 
face. Then, before Bon Villon had a chance to 
speak, he calmly walked down the path and disap¬ 
peared in the woods. 

Karet’s looks of love as he held Sabine’s hands had 
caused all the white instincts of the half-breed to 
lose themselves in the red, and desire for revenge 
was working in his heart. Ough, sister of the cap: 
had he not known it all along? Even that would not 
save her now. And he would show that gay French 
sergeant how Chief Ocase Mataha could avenge 
himself. His Chickasaw blood was boiling as he rode 
through the woods. He gave his horse a blow that 
sent it flying, and with a war whoop galloped away 
between the trees. The yell was plainly heard at 
the home of Bon Villon. 

"That was Ocase,” said Bon Villon anxiously. 
Sabine’s happiness took wings at the sound, and a 
strange dread filled her heart, while a cloud settled 
over the little party. 

Liza and Mulatto still regarding their master as 
more spirit than man, had prepared a feast for him 
and his friends, and there have been few gatherings 


278 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


stranger than the one seated around Bon Villon’s 
board on that mild fall day. All drank to the health 
and return of their host who beamed with pleasure 
and gratitude for such friendship. After dinner the 
guests gradually took their departure until Guydo 
and Marc'elena, Sabine and Karet were the only ones 
left. Finally Mulatto brought the Sepulvedor horses 
around to the block. Guydo had been a silent ob¬ 
server all day. He had not congratulated Sabine 
when the others had, but now, when saying good 
bye, he told her he rejoiced in her good fortune and 
wished her many more wonderful surprises. 

Bon Villon accompanied Marcelena to her horse. 
Before lifting her to the saddle he caught her in his 
arms and covered her blushing face with kisses. 
Then, as she and Guydo rode away, he watched 
until the woods hid her from his gaze. 

Karet lingered at the home of Bon Villon awhile 
before leaving to attend his own neglected duties 
at Spanish Town. The sergeant rode leisurely along 
the road to the fort, glad to be alone that he might 
reflect upon the astonishing revelation of the day, 
and how the changed circumstances, so wonder¬ 
fully good for Sabine, were to affect him. He knew 
that his love for her must meet with Bon Villon’s 
approval, now more than ever, for the senor had 
shown his disapproval of the marriage with Ocase 
on the occasion of their only talk on the subject. 
And the Indian, for whom he had laid aside his feel- 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 279 

ings to further the search for Bon Villon, was now 
subject to capture again. 

All the impossibility of his winning Sabine came 
over him, casting him into new depths of despon¬ 
dency. 

He had ridden many miles when a horseman 
came in view riding toward him. At first he 
thought it Ocase, but as the rider drew near he 
recognized Joe Sohone, his companion of the last 
week. Joe was riding Ocase’s little race horse, 
Antonie. He hailed Karet familiarly. 

“Hy,—sergeant! I s’picioned you’d take this 
road so I come to meet you.” 

“Good. Going to Spanish Town, Joe?” 

“Not today, sergeant. My wife’s sick. I brung 
you a message from the Chief.” 

“Well?” Karet’s voice hardened. A black look 
swept his face. 

“He wants you to meet him tomorrow evening 
at Dolette Ford.” 

“What for?” 

“Gawd knows. He’s been ’er raisin’ hell with us 
boys, an if I ware you sergeant, I’d not go nigh 
there or fool with him.” 

Karet rode in silence a moment, his gaze on the 
road ahead, his expression set and hard. He knew 
Joe liked him and was advising him because it 
would be dangerous for him to meet the half-breed 


tomorrow. 


280 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


'Til be there, Joe. Tell your Chief that for 
me.” 

"But, sergeant, you’ll shorely take Senor Bon 
Villon with you?” 

"Did Ocase want the senor?” 

"No, but—” 

"Then I will not bother him.” 

Joe held out his hand to the Frenchman. 

"Well, I must hurry home to my sick wife or I’d 
shore go with you myself.” 

"Thank you, Joe, for your friendship, but no one 
ever knew a Brussard to fail an appointment,” said 
Karet, and shaking hands they separated. 


XXII. 


Senor Bon Villon insisted that Sabine remain at 
his home until morning. He wished to talk over 
plans for her future and make arrangements for 
her safety. The stigma of her being the wife of 
the half-breed was becoming painful, and a solution 
of the problem of her marriage was necessary. He 
recalled his first visit to the home of Ocase. Not¬ 
withstanding the fact that Ocase at that time re¬ 
sembled the white race far more than his Indian an¬ 
cestors, Bon Villon had been shocked to find a 
white girl presiding over his cabin, and when, in 
tears and confusion, she had told him her wrongs, 
he had thought her story the most pitiful he had 
ever heard. Now, as his sister, the situation was 
impossible. With Sabine’s view of marriage, her 
bonds were irrevocably tied. 

While these thoughts were passing through Bon 
Villon’s mind, Sabine was rattling on in a happy 
way about the delights of having a real brother 
whom she had already learned to depend on and 
love. Bon Villon, not wishing to mar her joy, en¬ 
tered into her gay mood and left the unpleasant 


281 


282 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


things for another time. He resolved, however, 
that not one stone should be left unturned to secure 
his little sister’s happiness. On the morrow he 
would take her home, for he knew she would re¬ 
turn to Ocase and resume the burden of her life. 
But the half-breed would be warned in a way that 
could leave no doubt in his mind about how she was 
to be treated. 

Bon Villon had reclined most of the afternoon in 
a hammock which Mulatto had resurrected from 
the loft. Nevertheless, he was weak and tired, and 
his head hardly touched the pillow before sleep 
overtook him, so he never knew of the light kiss 
that was imprinted on his forehead, and the prayer 
of thankfulness that Sabine whispered to the Virgin 
for him. 

Sabine was awakened next morning by Liza light¬ 
ing a fire on the hearth. For a moment she won¬ 
dered where she was, then, remembering, a joyful 
light broke over her face. Leaping out of bed she 
flung the little shutters open and gazed out on a 
beautiful frosty morning. After breakfast, she and 
Bon Villon started gaily off down the path, but 
as they drew near Ocase’s cabin, all the joy went 
out of the morning. Something dark and for- 
boding surrounded and silenced them. The wind 
rattled the bare trees. They found Ocase at home, 
sitting by a big fire and so cheerful much of Bon 
Villon’s distrust vanished. Nevertheless he talked 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


283 


to him straight and earnestly, studying him the 
while to see if any treacherous motive lurked hidden 
behind the beady eyes. If only gold would tempt 
the Indian the situation could be easily handled, he 
thought. But of gold there were unknown quanti¬ 
ties in Ocase’s cave, and Bon Villon knew him too 
well to imagine the offer of more would tempt him 
where the possession of his white wife was con¬ 
cerned. 

Ocase talked so freely, and agreed so readily to 
whatever plans Bon Villon mentioned, that the 
senor finally left, not easy in his mind, but with the 
idea of playing for time, for compromise. Sabine 
was all the family he had now—He was proud of 
her—She was so beautiful. 

"Dam such dare devil bravery,” he swore, think¬ 
ing of Karet’s carelessness in the presence of Ocase 
the day before. 

After Bon Villon left Ocase sat a long time in 
absolute quiet. Sabine left him alone as usual. So 
much had happened for her to think about. Proudly 
she pondered the thought of being sister to the 
aristocratic Bon Villon, and daughter of a Spanish 
grandee, Out . Not ill born, mon dieu, how thrill¬ 
ing. She also thought of Karet. She tried not too, 
but she did, more often than of the other things that 
had happened. Occasionally she peeped out at Ocase 
still sitting so quietly on the gallery. Somehow 
his silence today was frightening. Why so still, so 


284 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


long—She nervously stopped her work to look at 
the beautiful jeweled locket her new brother had 
clasped around her neck. Tears of happiness 
swelled to her eyes as she looked at her father’s like¬ 
ness, and forgot her surly Indian husband and all 
the sorrow he had caused her. 

The day wore on. Dinner was over and Ocase had 
sat silent all the while, only grunting when Sabine 
ventured to question him. At last he rose and 
walked about restlessly. Sabine thought he had 
gone into the woods, when, glancing through the 
little window, she saw him watching her with such 
an evil look that a cry rose to her lips. She checked 
it and turned away to get out of sight of his cruel 
eyes. 

As she turned away she heard him walk to the 
side, of the cabin and stop. Then a grinding noise 
came to her ears and peeping through a tiny crack 
in the crude shed room, she saw her husband at the 
grindstone, sharpening his hunting knife. Sabine 
was thoroughly frightened. She had seen him 
sharpen his knife often but never had he looked as 
he did today. Even in his most passionate moods he 
had never seemed so much the cruel Indian as he 
did now, lurking around, stealthily watching her in 
that wild and savage way. She watched him a 
moment and saw him glance toward the cabin. Un¬ 
able to bear it longer she decided to slip out the back 
door, gain the woods while her husband was not 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


285 


looking, go to her brother’s house and never return. 
She sped to the door of the ante-room and lifted 
the latch, but the door did not move. 

She shoved gently, then with all her strength, 
but it did not open. The thought flashed over her 
that Ocase had fastened it on the outside. Standing 
there half frenzied by her helplessness, she caught 
again the grinding sound. Pale, her breath coming 
in short gasps, she glanced at the front door stand¬ 
ing open. Should she run for it? She did—and 
darted right into the arms of Ocase. He pushed her 
back into the room and looked at her with eyes 
that glowed with savage, pent up jealousy. Still 
eying her, he took a step nearer, and Sabine, fright¬ 
ened out of all caution, screamed and attempted to 
run past him, only to be shoved across the room so 
violently that she fell across the table and lay there 
a moment stunned. 

There had not been a word spoken, no sound save 
Sabine’s frightened scream and a sobbing breath as 
she hit the table. 

“Monsieur Karet’s mistress seems frightened in 
her husband’s house!” said Ocase in a cold, sneering 
voice as Sabine got to her fet. 

Then this was it, she thought. She found her 
voice. 

“You accuse me of that? Of perfidy? How dare 
you say such things! I will go to my brother and 
he will teach you to accuse me!” 


286 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


She spoke bravely but her eyes kept turning from 
his black glittering eyes to the sharp hunting knife 
at his belt. 

"Your brother cannot help you now, nor can 
your lover who has tried so hard to capture the 
husband who stood in his way. Ough! I guess you 
had it all planned, but I was too sharp for you.” He 
came closer and seized her wrist. "Yes, your man 
was too sharp for both of you. Only one thing will 
save you, only one chance I give you, go with me 
on the trail, carry my game bag and my papoose. 
Do you hear? Feed my dogs and wait on me as my 
squaw. You can choose this, or death!” 

He tapped his knife significantly and she knew 
he meant what he said. But the thing he proposed 
was far worse than death; she would never promise, 
never. Ocase saw the determination in her eyes. 

"You will either go with me on the trail or to 
Dolette Ford. Take your choice—and be quick!” 

"Why the ford?” she asked in a choking voice. 

"I have a meeting there with the sergeant and I 
thought you would like to see him once again.” 

Sabine closed her eyes and shuddered. Then she 
straightened up and showed some of her brave 
father’s blood. 

"Take me to the ford, you cruel beast. Yes, the 
ford a thousand times over.” 

The murderous gleam in the half-breed’s eyes 
deepened. His whole countenance settled into an 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


287 


impassive fixedness as he pointed down the trail that 
led to the ford. 

Sabine started ahead with swift steady steps, 
her proud little head held high. She felt she had 
reached the crisis of her eventful life. She tried to 
think rationally of what would happen or, perhaps 
already had happened. Ocase was cunning enough 
to know what would make her suffer most. She 
thought of the sergeant and a cold hand clutched 
her heart. Ocase had murdered him and was taking 
her there to see his dead body. 

"Merciful God,” she whispered and faltered in 
her steps. 

Ocase gave he a quick shove that steadied her 
again. They strode on down the trail. To what? 
The question throbbed through her brain. She 
thought her unbounded happiness of yesterday a 
dream. Was it really she for whom the rose tints 
of life had seemed to begin to glow? And now, 
after one day of bliss, it was to be torn away from 
her, this blessed cloak of kindred and protecting 
love, by an Indian brute. 

Sabine trembled as though the black eyes of the 
half-breed were boring through her brain and her 
steps quickened unconsciously. Then, with sudden 
bravery, she wheeled and faced him, her imperious 
look and flushed face defying the treacherous look 
of her husband. She felt sustained by the red blood 
of generations of brave warrior ancestors. 


288 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


Ocase raised his fist as he met the dauntless blue 
eyes flashing before him. For an instant there was 
a look of sympathy for her bravery, a trait he ad¬ 
mired above everything but against the savage hate 
settled on his face and he silently motioned her to 
proceed. 

"I must know what we shall find at the ford.” 

"We shall find your lover perhaps,” was the leer¬ 
ing reply. 

Sabine’s head bent and she pressed her hand to her 
heart. He had murdered Sergeant Karet and in that 
moment of agony she knew she loved the sergeant 
better than life. Now he was dead—murdered by 
this monster before her. A fury took possession of 
her and in an instant she had seized the little stilleto 
she kept about her, and struck with all her might at 
the heart of the Indian. Ocase dodged the attack 
and reached out to crush her to the earth with one 
blow. Then, sinking his fingers into the masses of 
her golden hair, he dragged her to the ford with 
stoic indifference to her struggles and screams. He 
produced buck skin thongs and bound her firmly 
to a tree, then stood off and watched her as she 
panted for breath. Finally, he spoke, his gutteral 
voice clogged by the jealous furry that smouldered 
in his black eyes like live coals. 

"You have not seen the dead body of your gallant 
sergeant yet, have you?” 

Sabine trembling looked round the dark shadows 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


289 


of the woods, but finding nothing horrible in sight, 
let her agonized gaze fall again on the dark sinister 
face of her husband. 

"You will see your lover soon, I have his word for 
it, and I think you will enjoy the little scene I have 
prepared.” 

Ocase drew his sharpened hunting knife from his 
belt, and running his fingers over it leered at her. 
Then, with a dexterous throw, he buried it into the 
tree, so near to her head that it severed a lock of 
her hair and surprised a terrified scream from her. 
Sabine knew that this was but the beginning of 
torture for her. She almost swooned when an in¬ 
stant later, he jerked the knife from the tree, looked 
at the sun, then knelt with his head to the ground 
and listened. 

An exultant look spread over his face as he rose. 

"Ough! He comes!” 

The earth seemed to tremble and shake beneath 
Sabine but she steadied herself and listened for the 
first sound of Karet’s approach, prepared to scream 
and warn him of his danger. Ocase, divining her 
thought, leaped behind her just as she heard hoof 
beats down the trail and screamed the sergeant’s 
name. The half-breed’s hand closed over her mouth 
and she struggled helplessly while Karet rode swiftly 
into the trap. 

The Frenchman had heard her stifled scream, and 
not understanding, urged his horse through the 


290 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 


bushes and was right upon them before he knew it. 
When he saw Sabine bound and struggling, he 
leaped from his horse and dashed toward her. Be¬ 
fore he reached her, the Indian, with a blood curd¬ 
ling yell, sprang upon him and bore him down in a 
terrible grip. 

Sergeant Karet, taken at a disadvantage, was 
overpowered at first, but so strong and active was 
he that Ocase was hard put to keep him down. The 
wiry Frenchman nearly disengaged himself several 
times, but always the giant strength of Ocase bore 
him to the ground, and powerful arms tightened 
about him until he lay at the half-breed’s mercy. 
Karet looked Ocase in the eye, ready to perish as he 
had lived, without fear. 

When Ocase drew his knife Sabine cried and 
pleaded, but the Indian only gripped the knife 
tighter. 

“You have tried to take my squaw, I take your 
life. Look at her for the last time. After this knife 
is buried in your heart I will take her on the trail 
where she will feed my dogs for me, and nurse my 
papooses. Look now, for it will be your last.” 

Karet looked into the pale terrified face of 
Sabine. 

“Sabine, my only love, I adore you. I die for you 
willingly. Your brother, my good friend, will 
rescue you from this insufferable coward who 
would not meet me in fair combat. Farewell, my 


The Witch of Bayou Pierre 291 

love. Now, coward, to the hilt in the heart that 
loves Sabine.” 

Sabine attempted to cry out but her voice refused 
its office. Ocase raised the knife yet higher and 
poised to strike. The sharp report of a rifle rent the 
air, and the knife dropped harmlessly to the ground 
as Ocase sprang to his feet, his hand pressed to his 
heart. 

Across the stream, where a white puff of smoke 
still floated in the air, stood old Asa Lisso, his long 
white hair and beard streaming around him as he 
waved his rifle. 

"The seventeenth ... the seventeenth” he chanted 
in his cracked old voice. 

Ocase looked. A flash of recognition crossed his 
face, and as the phantom rifleman disappeared, the 
half-breed, long the terror of the Spanish Trail, 
fell lifeless at Sabine’s feet. 

It was but the work of a moment for Sergeant 
Karet to seize the knife and sever the thongs which 
held the fainting girl. Sabine, the woman he loved, 
was held tight in his hungry embrace. 


THE END 




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